Harry Potter and the Death Note
by Thephantomprince
Summary: The Death Note, the most dangerous weapon in the history of murder. In the possession of a genius muggle, it's user is nearly impossible to beat. How will this weapon fare in a world of witches and wizards when wielded by one of their own?
1. Beginning

Harry Potter and the Death Note

I make no money off this; I don't own Harry Potter or Death Note.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It was a perfectly ordinary day in Surrey. At Number Four, Privet Drive, Vernon Dursley got up early in the morning, just as he did every day. He went downstairs, the foundation creaking underneath him, to find his wonderful wife already cooking breakfast. He planted a kiss on her cheek as he settled down to read the paper and drink a cup of straight black coffee. Like a real man, none of that sissy cream and sugar.

Just a few minutes after he came down, his son came down the stairs, rubbing sleep out of his eyes, but eager to get up early, as it was what his dad did. Vernon was particularly proud of his son, who strived to imitate everything his father did. Of course, his son picked up a comic book rather than the paper, and slurped back some Coca-Cola. Vernon practically swelled with emotion as his son checked his posture, making sure it matched his father.

His good mood was shortly ruined when a slight figure with messy black hair ghosted in the front door; face smeared with dirt, and found his place at the table, sitting silently.

The boy looked nothing like the rest of the family; while Vernon and Dudley's blonde hair laid flat against their skulls, practically looking combed right out of bed, the boy's black unruly hair stuck up at every direction. He had green eyes that were always narrowed, glaring at the world. But Vernon was glad his hair at least covered his most prominent aspect, a scar that marked the boy's forehead. He was unsightly enough already.

"I finished the gardening, Auntie." The boy muttered, fidgeting slightly in his chair as if uncomfortable. Petunia pursed her lips, and checked the front garden through the window. Her disapproving look sharpened and she turned back to the boy, who was looking hungrily at the simmering bacon on the stove.

"You didn't do a good enough job planting the petunias. They should be in three straight lines, four in each row. Go out and do it right this time." She told the boy tersely. Vernon respected her for her frank dealing with the boy. He himself didn't like to deal with him, but he was glad she was so skilled at putting the boy in his place.

The boy accepted his new assignment with nary a grumble, heading out to redo the yard with no food as punishment for not doing it right the first time. They had to be tough on him if they wanted him to be as respectable as Dudley.

A few minutes later Petunia served up two rashers of bacon, one for Dudley and one for Vernon, along with a side of eggs. One of Vernon's life lessons was that you could never have too much bacon, and he and Dudley followed that lesson near religiously. Petunia had a salad while her boys dug into their hearty breakfast with vigor.

Right afterwards Vernon went upstairs to clean himself, trim his moustache, and get dressed. Before he walked out the door he kissed his wife again and ruffled his son's hair, wishing him a good day at school.

When he walked out the front door he immediately noticed something was off. The petunias were all planted in the yard, just as they were supposed to, but the boy wasn't there. Instead, he was kneeling on the pavement, in the road, as if looking at something.

Looking left and right, Vernon saw none of his neighbors around to witness this deplorable lack of self-preservation. He darted into the road, at least as much a man of his stature could dart, and grabbed the boy roughly around the middle, dragging him back into the yard and into the foyer of the house.

Once behind closed doors, Vernon rounded on the boy. "What do you think you were doing?" He growled. The boy shuffled, avoiding eye contact with his uncle. "Boy, tell me right now why you were sitting in the middle of the street."

"I'm sorry, Uncle. " The boy said fearfully. He finally met Vernon's gaze, looking imploringly into his uncles eyes. "I was done with the gardening, and I was gonna come in but I saw something." He held up something that Vernon hadn't realized the boy was carrying when he had grabbed him. Out of curiosity, he took it.

It was a thin black book, with a hard cover like a textbook. He felt an odd chill go through him, but he shrugged it off and opened it. It was filled with blank pages, with lines going across each page marking where one should write. It was just a notebook.

"I looked up, and I saw this book, it was falling, like someone had thrown it out of a plane, but there was no plane, it just fell out of the sky." The boy babbled.

A quiet calm settled across Vernon's face, but inside a storm had broken loose. He pushed the boy into the kitchen, surprising his wife, and stuffed the notebook into his briefcase, vowing to get rid of it. Nothing that fell from the sky could be good news. He would tell his wife later, and they would try to further discourage the idea of magic in this household, but for now he needed to go to work.

He got into his car and tried to forget about the notebook he had in his briefcase, his resolve so strong he didn't even see the shadow that raced behind his car.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

When Vernon got to work, he quickly managed to lose himself in his work. He was moving up in this company, and was quickly becoming the best seller in Grunnings. By the time lunch rolled around, he had completely forgotten about anything odd happenstances. He worked at his desk, filling out some paperwork, when a light began blinking on his desk phone.

"Yes, Renee? What is it?" He asked, trying to balance talking to his receptionist and writing down information.

" _I got a call from a Mr. Harrison Jones here; he wants to talk with you about a deal for around 2,000 drills."_

Vernon's heart picked up a little and a grin split his face. He had been working on getting Jones as a client for a while now, and if he managed to sell that many drills then he would definitely get a raise.

"Alright, please put him on." Vernon requested. _"Actually, he just left me a number for you to call so that you can contact him later. The number is 779…"_

"Wait! Give me a moment; I need to write this down." Vernon had an awful memory for phone numbers, and normally had a pad of paper to write them down on, but he was out. The only other paper he had was his paperwork, which he had to turn in and…the notebook.

Somewhat apprehensively, Vernon pulled out the notebook and began flipping through it, looking for anything out of the ordinary. He found none. It simply was a regular, college-ruled notebook.

" _Sir?"_

"Hm? Oh, right, give me the number." She fed him the number and he jolted it down, putting down Jones's name down so he would remember. He might just use this notebook to record numbers in the future. In fact, he wrote down the time he planned to call him, 2:30, which was when he planned to be done with his paperwork.

Time flew by as Vernon worked, and he gradually got more excited. If he got a raise then he could afford to get his son that game system he wanted, and maybe get Petunia some new earrings. He spared no thought for his nephew.

Finally, he finished with his work and sent it off to be finalized. He checked his watch and saw that it was 2:28. Might as well call Jones right now; get this deal in the bag as soon as possible. He pulled out the notebook and found the number, calling it right away.

" _Hello, office of Harrison Jones, this is Amy."_

"Hello, Amy, this is Vernon Dursley. I was told to contact Mr. Jones so we can work on a deal. Is he available?"

" _Yes, Harrison-I mean Mr. Jones- has been awaiting your call. I'll transfer you immediately."_

Vernon chuckled slightly. Even over the phone, he could tell from the way she addressed her superior that Amy and Jones were quite fond of each other. Ah, office romance. If only he were a younger man…

" _This is Harrison Jones. Is this Mr. Dursley of Grunnings Handheld Drills?"_

"It is indeed, sir. Were you interested in purchasing one of our fine drills?"

" _Well, I was hoping to buy more than one, but…"_ Jones's playful tone was suddenly cut off by an odd choking noise, as if he had been punched.

"Mr. Jones? Are you alright?" All Vernon heard was wheezing from the other end, then the sound of something hitting the ground. He stared at the phone in his hand in shock. What the hell? He still held the phone to his head, and he heard the sound of someone screaming.

" _Oh my god! He's dead! He's dead; he's had a heart attack!"_ Vernon hung up the phone with a sick feeling in his stomach. His eye reflexively caught the clock. It was just a few seconds past 3:30.

Now, Vernon was not exactly a stupid man. Intolerant of strange freaks who wanted to disturb the natural order of the world with their abilities, yes. But he had a Master's degree in business and he knew how to use his head when he needed to.

He was in possession of a notebook that his nephew had seen fall from the sky. He had written a man's name down, and a time and that man had died at exactly that time. And while he was no scientist, and while he hated magic, he figured some experimentation had to be done.

But first, out of paranoia more than anything, he ripped out the page with Harrison Jones's name and number, putting through a paper shredder. Then he opened to a blank page and pulled out a pen. He had thought that coming up with a name to write down would be hard, but a face popped into his mind immediately, a smug bearded one.

 **Blake Fitzwilliam, 3:45**

The American man was a complete ass, and he was also up for the same promotion Vernon was. With Jones dead there was no way Vernon would get it.

For the next ten minutes Vernon waited, counting down every minute. He played with all of his office equipment; he munched on a spring roll he had left over from lunch, until it was only a minute away.

All of a sudden, the desire to be there when it happened struck Vernon. He had to be there, see it with his own eyes. Only then would he know. With speed he hadn't known he possessed, Vernon tumbled out of his office and into the hallway, ignoring Renee's shout of surprise.

Vernon took off, knowing he had only seconds. He arrived at the door of Fitzwilliam, arriving at the same time as Theodore Rumsman, an exceptionally cheery short man. Who also happened to be Vernon's boss.

"'Lo, Vernon. What're you doing here?" He said jovially. Vernon struggled to keep in his haste in front of his boss. "Oh, you know, just checking up on a co-worker." Vernon said breezily. He ignored his boss's appraising look and opened the door, revealing Fitzwilliam working at his desk.

The man looked up and plastered a fake smile on. "Why hello, Vernon. Hello, Mr. Rumsman. Why have you two come by?"

Vernon's heart dropped out of his chest and settled into his stomach, stepping silently out of the way to allow Rumsman in. How foolish he had been.

"Fitzwilliam, we have seen your work ethic and superior selling skills, so we have decided to award you- are you alright?" Vernon's eyes widened and he looked in to see Blake with an odd expression on his face. Then the man slumped over at his desk, dead.

Vernon's eyes sought the now dead man's clock. 3:30 on the money. Rumsman rushed over to Fitzwilliam's side, taking his pulse. "My lord…he must've had a heart attack. He's dead."

Rumsman was clearly in shock, and Vernon leapt at the opportunity. He guided his boss away from the body and called Fitzwilliam's family. All the while, a dark glint glittered in Vernon's eye.

He had found his way up in the world.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

At the end of the month, a larger than average paycheck was deposited into Vernon Dursley's bank account. Of course, a large hunk of that money was soon used up on an advanced gaming system for Dudley, and Petunia received a pearl necklace and new earrings.

Petunia had noticed the oddest changes in Vernon's behavior. The large man was cheery to the point of being manic, whistling happily and actually playing with his son outside. When she asked him about his sudden change, he simply told her that he was happy his work was being recognized.

However, he also became different in a bad way. He was quieter at home, and didn't watch TV or movies with the family anymore. He took over Dudley's second bedroom and turned it into an office, locking himself up in there for long hours. But she couldn't deny the fruits of his labor. Within two months, Vernon had gotten promoted twice.

Even the boy was getting along well. When Vernon entered the room he stiffened, his eyes darting around the room as if watching something. She assumed that he was finally instilled with the respectful fear that they had been going for all this time.

But despite all the good news lately, Petunia was worried about her husband. There had been many deaths in the paper lately, with many having worked at Grunnings. Some had died from heart attacks, but then they began dying in increasingly odd ways. Death by falling piano. Death by rabid dog attack. Death by sudden total organ failure of formerly healthy people.

Petunia began to worry that Grunnings was cursed.

She didn't want to bring it up to Vernon. She hated magic with a passion for taking her sister away from her, but Vernon had a fear of magic. She never knew how it had developed, but he never allowed even the mention of magic. Still, she knew that curses existed. She had to talk to him.

So, one night, she decided to bring it up. After sending Dudley off to bed and the boy to his cupboard, she approached the closed door to Vernon's office. She took a shallow breath and knocked softly. She wasn't aware that her knuckles made so little sound that no one could have heard it from the other side, so she assumed that the silence was consent.

The door glided open silently on oiled hinges. Vernon's study was dark, with the only light being the one on Vernon's desk. His enormous back was facing away from her, and he was scribbling something down, muttering to himself.

"Honey? Can we talk?"

Vernon practically jumped out of his chair, slamming the cover on whatever book he had been annotating, his pen hastily shoved into his pocket. "What are you doing here? I told you not to disturb me." Vernon practically growled.

For the first time in her life, Petunia took a step back in fear of her husband. "I-I just wanted to talk to you." Her voice shook a little bit, much to her shame. "Why couldn't this have been discussed at the dinner table?" His voice took on a steely calm that almost intimidated her more than rage.

"Because I'm scared for you, Vernon!" Petunia's voice shook with emotion, not fear for herself this time, but fear for the one she loved. Vernon froze, and Petunia continued. "People in Grunnings keep dying, people high up, and with the way you're advancing it might be you next! I know you don't like those…people, but they're real, and they might have put a curse on your business. I don't want to lose you!"

Petunia couldn't read the look in Vernon's eyes. The shadows of the room hid her husband's normally expressive eyes, and both stood in silence.

"I'm sorry if I've been worrying you, sweetie." Vernon came closer to her, and she relaxed when she saw the compassion in his eyes. He engulfed her in a hug and she noted with some surprise that he seemed to have lost some weight. "It's just been a rash of bad luck at the company. I'm sure it has nothing to do with magic. I'll be fine."

Petunia was slightly amazed that he managed to say the dreaded word so calmly, and she melted into his arms. He placed a kiss on her lips, and she returned it in full. She began undoing his tie from around his neck, and he pushed her out of the office, closing the door behind him, and brought her into their bedroom.

After that night, Petunia forgot about her husband's odd behavior, and didn't enquire to what he had been writing down in that notebook.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

" **Smooth moves, Vernon."**

He grunted, and continued scribbling down names. With the end of a pen stroke, David Benely would die on Sunday, shot to death by a mugger. That blighter had been an important manager of Steward's Mechanics, who was posed to overtake Grunnings in the stock market.

" **For a few moments I thought you were going to tell her about the Death Note. Don't you humans share everything with your significant others?"**

"There are some secrets that you shouldn't burden your family with. This is one of them. It's bad enough that the boy can see you." Vernon turned his chair around to face the hooded figure that sat in the middle of the floor.

"Which reminds me… According to what you said, he has ownership of the Notebook, right?" The figure's head, obscured as it was, still dropped and rose in a nod.

" **Of course. The first human to touch the Death Note becomes the owner of it. You can still use it, but if he talks to me and decides that he doesn't want to see me anymore, giving up ownership, you will lose all memories of the Death Note unless you're holding it. If you're holding it, then ownership will transfer to you. But if you're not holding it then you'll lose all your memories of the Death Note, reverting to your old self, who would probably just set it on fire."**

The figure cackled, and his cloak rippled with the motion. Vernon scowled with displeasure. He knew that his self of 2 months prior had planned on destroying it, until he saw the power it gave him. He was in agreement with the spirit; he would have likely destroyed it without touching it if he hadn't discovered its powers.

He could try and engineer a situation where he forced the boy to give up ownership of the Notebook while he, Vernon, was holding it. But he couldn't order Spirit around, he had a mind of his own and his own Death Note, and Vernon's relationship with the boy was tedious at best, even worse since he could see Spirit following him around. Not nearly enough to force ether of them to talk to the other in a controlled way.

Then an idea came to him, and a grin sprouted under his moustache.

"What if I kill him?"

Vernon couldn't make out Spirit's body under the cloak, but the entity seemed to still. **"What?"**

"The boy. I've wanted to see if the Note would work on a freak anyway. And logically, the Death Note can't belong to a dead man." The idea seemed better and better in his mind. The boy was not shaping up like they'd been trying to get him to, so he'd be better off dead than alive. Especially if it benefited Vernon.

" **You can't do that."** For the first time, Spirit's voice was sharp instead of jovial. Vernon frowned. "That won't work? Damn, I thought I was onto something…"

" **No. I mean I won't let you kill him."** Spirit was suddenly towering over Vernon, and he caught sight of a terrifying visage under the creature's hood. "What? Why? What's so important about the boy?"

" **Nothing you need to know. I'll let you use the Death Note, but you may not kill Harry Potter with it. He is off limits."** Spirit growled.

Vernon shook in fear, and he had to fight hard to keep his bowels secure. "Alright, alright, I won't kill the boy!" Spirit stood silently over Vernon, and he feared that the cloaked man didn't believe him.

"… **Fine. You're safe. I will not kill you."** Vernon relaxed slightly, but then almost screamed when enormous bestial wings, covered with black feathers, burst from Spirit's back. He flapped them once, almost knocking everything in the office over, and then flew up and through the roof of the house, leaving no trace of his existence.

Vernon waited for a moment, and then leaned out the window. He didn't see a flying black cloak anywhere. He pulled his head back in and positioned his pen over the paper of the Death Note. "Suck on this you piece of shit. Even a god of death can't be everywhere at once."

 **Harry Potte-**

The pen skidded over the paper, ruining the R that Vernon had been writing. He looked at his shaking hand in confusion. He never had problems writing names before. Was this nerves? Or…

A lightning bolt seemed to go through his body, and Vernon's spine arched up, his eyes bulging in pain. He tried to scream, but all that came out was a strangled gurgle. The pen fell, and his hand rested limply on the table.

He would never know that his own name had been written in another Death Note. He died trying to kill his nephew. He died without honor, and the only people who would miss him were his son, wife, and sister.

Spirit reentered the room through the roof and ghosted over to the dead man's body, cloak curling like smoke around him. He then laid long dark fingers over Vernon's eyelids. When he took them away, Vernon's eyes were closed. Still, he didn't look peaceful. He looked like a man who died in agonizing pain.

Just as he should have.

Spirit stood over his body, looking at the Death Note on the desk. He looked the very picture of the Grim Reaper, come to claim Vernon's soul. But he had no scythe. Just a notebook.

Spirit closed the Death Note, and contemplated what to do with it. In the end, he picked it up, and drifted down through the floor. He moved through the woodwork of the house, until he emerged in a small cramped space.

Spirit looked down at the sleeping boy that was just barely covered by a thin blanket. The boy shivered, as if he could sense the malevolent being in his sleep. Spirit leaned down and pulled out Vernon's Death Note, then slipped the notebook into the sheets, beside the boy.

" **You better be grateful, Harry. I just saved your life."**

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The next day Harry woke up, oddly refreshed. He didn't sleep well very often, but when he did, he knew it was going to be a good day.

Harry's internal clock told him it was around five in the morning, 30 minutes before Auntie usually asked him to do chores. He took the time to let out a rare content smile, and stretch. He could barely do such a thing in the cramped space, which was why he immediately noticed something out of the ordinary. When every inch of free space mattered you tend to notice when that's infringed on.

Harry quickly found the item taking up space and pulled it out. It was a black hardcover notebook, the same one that he had found two months ago. He had been devastated when Uncle Vernon had taken it away from him after he had found it. Auntie had told him he hadn't earned the right to have a notebook, even though Dudley had a new one every week.

But how did it find its way back to him? He had been told to forget about the notebook, that things didn't just fall from the sky, so Harry had assumed Uncle Vernon had destroyed it. His Uncle didn't approve of magic.

Harry dug around under his mattress and pulled out the stub of a pencil. He had many that he collected, but this was his longest. He figured if he had free time then he might as well draw in his new notebook. Dudley did that all the time in class and seemed to enjoy it.

Harry flipped open the notebook to the first page, and was surprised to find writing on it. He squinted at the words, trying to make them out. His vision was blurry and not too good, so it took him a while to make out words. But he did manage to make out the bold letterings.

 **DEATH NOTE**

Death Note? Like a notebook of death? Did the person who formerly owned this notebook write some sort of story in here?

Eagerly turning the next page, Harry found some sort of list.

"Rule one…" Harry read out loud slowly. "The human whose name is written in this note…will die."

A chill went through Harry. Death was sort of a heavy subject for a seven year old. But still, it peaked his interest, in a morbid kind of way. There were only five rules and Harry read them as quickly as he could.

 **Rule 2:** **The Notebook will not take effect unless I have the person's face in their mind when writing their name. People sharing the same name might not be affected.**

 **Rule 3: If the cause and time of death is written within the next 40 seconds of writing the person's name, it will happen.**

 **Rule 4: If the cause of death is not specified, the person will simply die of a heart attack.**

 **Rule 5: After writing the cause of death, details of the death must be written in the next 6 minutes and 40 seconds. Otherwise, the subject will die of a heart attack**

Harry could have sworn he had read this hand writing before. He thought on it, but still it didn't come to him. He turned the page and saw it filled with names and times. Harry read through all the names, and they seemed vaguely familiar. Didn't Uncle Vernon complain about some of these people a few months ago? Didn't Auntie say that they died just a few weeks ago?

It suddenly struck Harry where he had seen this handwriting before. It was Uncle Vernon's handwriting. Uncle Vernon had complained about some of these people, he had written their names in the Death Note, and they were dead now.

Uncle Vernon had killed these men.

Harry continued reading the names with a sort of detached shock. There were quite a few, with differing circumstances. Vernon had experimented quite a bit to figure out the Death Note's rules. Then Harry got to the last page.

 **Harry Potte-**

Harry's hands shook. The final letter was messily splattered, not even recognizable as a letter to those who didn't know what it was supposed to be. Maybe Vernon hadn't completed it on purpose, maybe somebody stopped Vernon from doing it, but Harry had been a second away from death, at his Uncle's whim.

But it was Harry's now. How it got there Harry didn't know, but now it was his, and he was not going to give it back up. He was going to keep himself safe, by never letting this out of his site.

But what would happen when Vernon realized that the Death Note was missing? What would he do to Harry if he realized that he had it?

There was only one thing to do. Only one way to keep himself safe, and keep others safe from his uncle.

Harry took his pencil stub in his fingers and wrote shakily on the paper, right next to his own name.

 **Harry Potte- VerNon DurSleY**

Harry's heart hammered in his throat. It didn't matter whether or not this was the right thing to do, it was already done. But Harry felt like he was going to be sick. In a split second decision he ripped out the page with his and his uncle's names on it, wadded it up, and put it in his mouth. With barely a chew he got it down his throat, and the evidence was gone.

And when his Aunt Petunia found Vernon's body later that morning and screamed, Harry knew that, for the first time in his short life, he had killed someone.

Or so he thought.

 **A/N:**

 **What's up everyone, thephantomprince here. After several piece of shit stories that I have since deleted, I decided it was time for another piece of shit story. This time it's a Harry Potter/ Death Note crossover, in case you didn't realize that.**

 **Now, as a preemptive move, I will tell you that I know Spirit is a really shitty and cliché name for a Shinigami. I will also tell you that Spirit is not his real name. Spirit is just what Vernon called him, because Spirit didn't feel like telling Vernon his name. So since Vernon isn't a very creative guy, he just called the spirit-like thing Spirit. I may or may not keep that name.**

 **So yeah, Ryuk and Light probably won't show up. If I continue with this fic and want to expand it past the end of the series, then I might send Harry to Japan and fuck up the Death Note story.**

 **Also important: Harry will not be a carbon copy of Light. The only other Death Note crossover I've read is Jinchuriiki's Note, where Naruto is basically Light but without the god complex, but Harry won't be like that (hopefully).**

 **I am open to questions about the plot, and any suggestions you might have that don't involve killing myself.**


	2. Awakening

Harry Potter and the Death Note

Chapter Two: Awakening

Dudley Dursley liked to think that he had the ideal life. He had a wonderful mother who cooked him lots of yummy food, and he had the best father in the world, who always worked to keep the family happy.

He even had a cousin to play with all the time; he would chase the boy around the neighborhood all day playing Harry Hunting. It was originally Cowboys and Bandits, but the fun of playing cowboys had turned to the thrill of the chase. And Harry really liked to run.

Yes, Dudley was content with his lot in life and knew himself to be the happiest boy in the world.

That was until that morning.

As was the case every morning for the past couple weeks, Dudley went to his Dad's office to bring him down for breakfast. He knocked on the door and waited for his Dad's jovial voice to call him in. He waited.

And waited.

Still waiting.

Getting a little bored now.

"Dad! Time for breakfast!" Dudley yelled, now knocking incessantly on the door, hoping his dad didn't fall asleep at his desk again and was snoring too loud to hear the knocking. Finally, he just pushed the door open, disregarding his mother's etiquette lessons in favor of immediate results.

His father was sitting in his office chair, sprawled out in a position that looked very uncomfortable. Dudley knocked on the door pointedly, while clearing his throat, imitating his mother. Still he got no response and Dudley finally got impatient enough to walk up to his father and shake him.

Dudley's arm got tired after a few seconds of shaking his father, and his Dad didn't wake up yet. "Dad?"

Vernon Dursley's eyes did not open to his son's pleas. At his son's vigorous shaking, his body toppled to the ground, hitting the floor with a hard thud. "Dad, this isn't funny anymore. G-get up."

Dudley rushed to his father's side and shook his father even harder, and his eyes began to prickle uncomfortably. "Dad? Daddy? Please get up! Daddy!"

Tears were running freely down Dudley's face now, and he gave up shaking in favor of burying his face into Dad's shirt to hide his tears. He had heard about this before, but it couldn't happen to him. Dad was the best man in the entire world, he couldn't be…dead.

Dudley heard his mother run up the stairs and gasp when she came in the door. With his mother there the situation suddenly became so much more real, and Dudley began openly bawling. Petunia tried to pull him away, but Dudley fought her off with all the strength of his small but rotund frame.

"C-come on, Dudders, we have to leave now, we have to leave." Petunia's voice wavered with emotion, the same emotion that was pouring out of Dudley's eyes. "Come on, Dudders, stop crying, be a big boy."

"I don't want to be a big boy, I want my Daddy! He can't be dead, he can't be!" A mucus bubble grew then popped on Dudley's face and he backed off of his father, smearing it off his face with his hands, doing his best to not get his tears and snot on his father. That was the opportunity that his mom needed to drag him away, out the door and downstairs, away from the body.

Dudley didn't see the cupboard open slightly, or see his cousins green eyes follow them. All he knew was that he wanted his father. He wanted his dad back.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Harry was left in his cupboard all day that day. As he sat in his cupboard he could hear the police come into his house and come upstairs. While they were there Harry hid the Death Note underneath his mattress and his heart beat in his chest far faster than he thought it should.

Harry knew it was irrational. Even if they found the Death Note, the page used to kill Uncle Vernon was gone; it was in his stomach being digested. Even so, his entire body shook in fear, and emotions coursed through him that he didn't know how to deal with.

He could hear his cousin and his aunt crying outside. They had never cried before. According to Dudley, crying was unmanly, because Vernon never cried, and according to Aunt Petunia, she never cried because it wasn't ladylike. Those views didn't stop them from doing it now.

Harry didn't know how to feel. He thought he hated Vernon, even before he found out he'd been killing innocent people. But now… the man was dead. He was gone, forever. And Harry had been the one to kill him.

But Harry didn't cry. For the life of him, for all the emotions surging through him, none of them came out as tears. None of them showed on his face. He kept it all inside. He kept the storm raging inside.

The hours passed and Harry could hear the cops talking to what remained of his family. He could hear choking sobs, soothing voices, and a lot of words that Harry couldn't make out. Harry had stopped shaking a few hours ago, and his mind turned to how he had received no food yet that day.

Harry opened the grate of the cupboard and tried to peer out to see if the coast was clear. Seeing no people around, Harry opened his cupboard door and snuck outside.

Harry skirted around the corner, slipping into the kitchen while the living room was occupied. He opened the refrigerator and shoved several pieces of cut fruit directly into his gaping gullet. The juices began running down his face and Harry wiped them on his shirt and grabbed several carrots to put away into the cupboard.

Just when he closed the door, however, he caught something out of his eye. He turned and saw a tall man that he definitely did not recognize. It must be one of the cops that Auntie called in. And Harry felt his heart pick up again.

Did he close the cupboard door? He was sure he did. Wait, he shouldn't be worrying about the Death Note right now, he had been caught stealing food! He had been counting on everyone being distracted by the tragedy to allow him to get some food. He wasn't exactly sure if stealing from his own family was a crime.

"Hello there, son. Petunia mentioned she had a nephew. Where have you been hiding?" The cop used the same voice one might use on a skittish animal. Harry stood still and tried to think of a response. His social skills did not extend to talking to cops, so he remained silent.

Luckily, the cop took this not as a sign of nervousness, but as a sign of a deep sadness. The man knelt, and wrapped his arms around the boy. Harry froze, and his back stiffened. He had never been hugged before.

"I know it's hard, kid. It's always tough losing someone for the first time. But you've got to be strong, for him, for your aunt, and for your cousin too." The cop said soothingly. Harry felt a break in his emotional barrier. He was a murderer, a killer. Yet this man, this complete stranger was talking to him kindly, he cared about Harry's feelings.

Harry's face scrunched up and tears began to blur his already bad vision. The man brought him closer and Harry buried his face into the man's shoulder. Someone cared about him. Maybe… maybe other people could care about him too. Even if he was a killer.

The man rubbed soothing circles on the boy's back as he cried. Then he led Harry into the living room with his relatives, where he was put in between Petunia and Dudley. And in that moment, as the all sat there, they were a family.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Things had changed in the past couple of weeks at Number 4 Privet Drive. That might have something to do with the darkening influence that having the power to kill anyone, anytime, had on one of the house's residents. But it also had to do with the significant impact of Vernon's death.

According to the school psychologist, the death had profound impact on both Dudley and Harry.

Dudley had stopped eating entirely for a period of days, and even when he had regained his appetite he was never as ravenous, resulting in some much needed weight loss. The boy had cherished his father in a way not often seen in modern culture, so the therapist coached Petunia to allow the boy closer access to his memory. As such, Vernon's office was cleared out, and Dudley turned it into his bedroom. Every night he went to sleep there he felt haunted by his father's ghost a little less. He was quiet, and strove to be hard working as he had seen his father to be.

The death had an opposite effect on Harry. While he had not turned around and become a cheery young man, he had come out of his shell a lot more. He got more comfortable talking, and his classmates found a willing listener to prattle on about their interests, which they were happy to educate him on if it meant that they had someone to talk to.

Petunia had to take a full time job to pick up the financial vacuum left behind after Vernon's death. At the school psychologist's request, she assigned the household chores to both Harry and Dudley, something to take their minds off the death and help them bond in the absence of a father figure.

Petunia did not see any psychologist, so she was never given advice or diagnoses, but it was clear what also happened the day after Vernon died. When Harry sat there, cried and mourned his uncle with her, he had become a real member of the family. Harry had been moved into Dudley's vacated old room, and he was treated as her son from that day forward.

One of the major upsides of that was that Petunia noticed that Harry needed glasses. At first she thought that her old reading glasses might work, but they were clearly not good enough, so she got him a handsome pair of square glasses to allow him to see perfectly. With this, Harry's school work took on a noticeable uptick.

For the first time in Harry's life, he had a loving, if somewhat quiet and depressed, family. For the first time, he was content.

Harry had sworn to himself that he wouldn't use the Death Note. He shoved down all those feelings that came up whenever he thought about Vernon's death, but he was still uncomfortable with killing people. Vernon had to die for others to live, that's the way Harry chose to look at it.

Unfortunately, no human mind can completely disassociate doing something evil with the positive outcomes of doing something evil. It's a concept called cognitive dissonance: when two opposing principles meet inside someone's head, then they have to be resolved somehow. That's why people raised in good, nurturing environments can still do awful things once and then do it again and again. Because they rationalize it in their minds, because they minimalize the bad effects of what they do, make them good.

Such a thing could happen to fully mature adults with black and white views of the world, so to Harry Potter the Death Note was not inherently evil; it was just how one used it. Using it, Harry had made life better for himself. That was only when he had used it once. Imagine the possibilities…

Harry shook his head, trying to shake the thoughts out of his mind. He found his mind wandering to the Death Note more and more these days, and he itched to write in it. He didn't even have a target in mind; he just felt the compelling urge to use it. The Harry of a few weeks ago might have been tempted to use it on Dudley or Petunia, but they were getting along so much better. And Harry wasn't an advanced psychologist, so he couldn't analyze why he wanted to use it so much.

"Mr. Potter!"

He had done it again, drifted off thinking about the Death Note, and now Harry's teacher was glaring at him, like he so often did.

"Yes, Mr. Jeffries?" Harry tried to keep a tic of nervousness out of his voice at his teacher's open hostility towards him.

"If you are not going to pay attention in my class, then you might as well have not graduated out of the first grade." Jeffries sneered. He was uncomfortably close to Harry, leaning down so that they were nearly nose to nose. A sweat broke out on Harry's temple, and Jeffries smirked, like he was glad to have instilled fear in a seven year old.

The man stood back up and turned around to bark at another student, who did the right thing and stayed silent, just absorbing Jeffries's hate, a little red-headed girl who was younger than the rest of the class, Carry Underwood. Harry saw a tear leak out of her eye and Jeffries grinned again, directing her gaze to her paper and going off to yell at someone else.

Harry saw that tear, and remembered that the only time he and his family cried were in times of severe emotional upheaval. Fury suddenly blossomed inside him, so strong it shook him. He didn't know why Jeffries was acting like such a jerk, and he was fine with absorbing some of that, but he was not okay with him taking it out on a girl even littler than Harry himself.

It boiled inside of Harry that whole day, and it became fiercer whenever Harry saw the man taking out his petty vendetta out on children the rest of the day. So when he got home, he didn't do his chores with Dudley like he usually did, but he went straight up to his room. Harry closed the door and locked it with a sort of grim finality.

Harry went over to his bed and pulled out a thick dictionary, so large that it was almost impossible to notice a small opening in between the pages. Harry dug his fingers into that opening, and pulled out the thin hardcover that was his Death Note.

" **Oh, are you finally going to use it? Or are you just going to stare at it again, wondering about the morality of using it?"** Harry flinched. He still hadn't gotten used to the dark cloaked man that had taken to following him around. He had explained that he was linked to the Death Note, but no more than that, not even a name. Or what he was.

"There's a man out there. A bad man. He's hurting people. And I can stop him." Harry said tersely.

" **Going after old man Jeffries? Can't say I blame you, he's a real jerk."** Harry turned to the man in shock and the hooded man cackled, his shoulders rising and falling with the intensity of the motion.

" **Like I told you, I go where the Notebook does. Just because you don't see me at your school doesn't mean that I'm not there."**

He cackled again, and went back to playing with some of Dudley's old toys, making 'vroom-vroom' sounds as he pushed the red truck along. Harry ignored the thing that managed to be so intimidating yet be so immature.

Harry opened the Death Note to a blank page and pulled out his pencil, the same one he had used to kill Vernon. He vowed it would never be used to write so many names that it dwindled to a stub. But now he needed to use it again.

There was only one problem. He didn't know Mr. Jeffries first name.

"What is it? Does it begin with a 'D'? Yeah, I think it begins with a 'D'…Daniel? David? Donald?" Harry couldn't seem to put his finger on it. It came to him all of a sudden, he was sure that he had heard his teacher say it before.

Harry pressed the pencil to the paper and wrote the name.

 **Darcy Jeffries, 12:30 PM**

Harry knew he could just get Jeffries to die of a heart attack within 40 seconds, but that wasn't enough. If Jeffries died after school, then there was no way the administration would tell Harry and his class about it, so Harry wouldn't know if he had gotten the name right.

It was more than that though. Harry wrote down 12:30, when all the kids would be outside playing, and Jeffries would be eating alone in the classroom. Jeffries would die and all the kids would come in, they would see the body of the man that had been verbally abusing them.

Harry closed the Notebook with a snap, and then re-hid it in the book under his bed. It was done. Carry wouldn't cry anymore.

Harry went downstairs to help Dudley with the chores.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Things started off badly the next day.

It was raining, very heavily. When Harry got up he hoped that the rain would dry up with how intensely it was coming down, but it continued well into the day. The weather seemed to have an effect on the school too; Jeffries was in a fouler mood than normal and the students did worse on everything he demanded of them.

Harry kept waiting for the rain to let up; he almost snapped his pencil with the force of his grip. But the rain kept falling. When 12: 15 rolled around Harry was pleading internally for Jeffries to release them to go to the gymnasium. But by that time Jeffries was well and truly pissed.

"You are not going to get recess; none of you have earned it. You are going to sit here and read, in complete silence. You start now." Jeffries sat down at his desk and glowered at the students.

Harry pulled out a book, he didn't even know what book, and he was just waiting. He had wanted for his classmates to find the body, to get some satisfaction from that, but he didn't want them to see him die. Even Harry hadn't watched as a man died. Yet.

It was 12:20. Everyone was still waiting

Harry's heart was beating faster than was probably healthy, and he couldn't focus on the words in front of him. He was about to see a man die, killed by the Death Note. No, not by the Death Note.

By him. Then an idea struck him.

Harry briefly allowed his eyes to roam the room, and he caught sight of the hooded man, who was hanging upside down from the ceiling, apparently sleeping. But when Harry saw him, those sunken eyes stared back at him, and the creature fell from the ceiling silently.

" **What up? You normally can't see me, you're always studying like a little nerd."** He cackled, and Harry almost panicked, but remembered no one else could hear the man.

"I need to stop the Death Note. At least for a little while." Harry turned his eyes on his book, and tried to keep his voice low enough so only the hooded man could hear him. The man stopped laughing and stilled. Harry risked a glance up at the now silent man and saw that he had a red light glowing from the depths of his sunken eyes.

" **It doesn't work like that."** He said suddenly. Harry's heart picked up again, and he started mentally preparing himself for witnessing Jeffries's death.

" **At least, not without a deal being made."** This time, Harry abandoned all pretenses of subtlety and leaned forward, trying to see in the spirit's face if it was being serious. "A deal?"

" **Yes. There is a deal among us Shinigami and humans with a Death Note. You see, Shinigami can see a human's name just by looking at a human's face. It makes it a snap to kill someone. And, for a price, we can give this ability to a human."**

Harry's temper was getting frayed. He only had five minutes. "So? I don't need weirdo eyes." He hissed.

The Shinigami shook a long finger back and forth, tssk-ing chidingly.

" **You see, Shinigami that make this deal are considered to be elite. After all, no one wants to pay the price. But if you accept, then I'll give you the Eyes. And your teacher won't die…at least until you finally wish for him to die."**

Yes! This was the solution. Plus, the Eyes might be useful. Just in time, too, it was 12:29. In his excitement, Harry didn't even think to ask what the price was. "I accept. I accept your deal."

The Shinigami grinned, a morbid sight with his lack of teeth. A chill went through Harry, and then the spirit covered Harry's entire head within his hand.

When the hand was removed, Harry's world was different. He could see the names of everyone around him, all tinged with red and floating above their heads, along with a series of numbers. But it was oddly blurry. Harry took off his glasses to clean them, and instead found he could see clearly with them. This was amazing!

Harry looked up at the Shinigami, hoping to see whatever it was he would do to counteract the Death Note's magic. Who knew, maybe the Death Note was just like a hit order, only Shinigami carried it out.

But the Shinigami stood stock still, still grinning maniacally down at the boy. He must have seen the confusion in Harry's eyes, for he gestured to the front of the classroom. Harry looked at his grumpy teacher, and all the air went out of Harry's lungs.

Darcy Jeffries Jr.

Harry swiveled his head around. It was 12:31.

Harry almost panicked for a moment. What if the Death Note killed a different Darcy Jeffries? That wasn't just killing someone, that was murder. But then the rules of the Death Note came to him. He had been picturing his teacher, and that means no one would die at all!

Harry looked up accusingly at the Shinigami, but his eyes were vacant, his creepy smile still present. It was almost like he was waiting for something. Shrugging his shoulders, Harry actually started reading his book, ignoring the enormous hooded man before him.

When he got home he would just kill Jeffries in the middle of the night, that had been way too heart pounding, and it might just be better to try to avoid public deaths in the future. Not that he would get names wrong now, not with the Eyes.

Harry grinned, and his normally vibrant green eyes briefly became red, glowing with a malevolent red light. But then they disappeared and Harry Potter looked normal again.

Harry read for the rest of the period, blissful and ignorant. He didn't know that he had signed away half of his life to the devil. Or a devil, anyway.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Darcy Jr. groaned as he fell onto his bed, his head pounding from a furious headache. He flung his briefcase hard against the wall, and was rewarded with some loud cursing from across the thin wall. He curled up in the fetal position on his thin mattress, and tried to push all his doubts away.

"Damn, how did it come to this?" Darcy cursed, perhaps for the sixth time today.

All his life he had wanted to be a teacher. But there had been a catch. He wanted to teach teenagers, mold young minds and instill them with morals and values. Instead he got a room of brats, only half of which were potty trained, all of which were arrogant little shits. He had always discarded the complaints that all kids these days were self-important, insolent bastards, but they totally were. Darcy feared how the world was going to end up if these kids went into politics.

And for all that, he could barely pay rent on his shitty apartment. It was a wonder that he didn't have to split rent with a homeless person. Darcy got up, to the complaint of his muscles, and poured himself a dollop of whiskey, gulping in down in one go, relishing the warm feeling it gave him.

Just then, his cell phone rang, and Darcy sneered in irritation. All he wanted was an hour to himself before he had to do papers and prepare for the parent-teacher conference, was that too much to ask?

His phone rang again, and Darcy flipped it open.

"What?" Darcy asked bluntly.

" _Yes, is this Mr. Darcy Jeffries?"_ The voice on the other end was disorted with static, but Darcy could still clearly hear the colors of nervousness in his tone.

"Yes, what is it?" Something had to be wrong. But what?

" _I'm afraid I have some bad news. Your father… he had a heart attack. He's gone."_

Darcy's glass slipped from between his suddenly numb fingers and fractured into multiple pieces on the ground.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Harry finished his chores early, he had Dudley had had a lot of extra energy from today. Dudley from having to go without break, and Harry was filled with the nervous energy from today. The two had rushed but made sure to have everything done well, and had exchanged typical stupid kid jokes the whole while.

Harry was actually still giggling when he pulled out the Death Note and his slightly smaller pencil.

 **Darcy Jeffries Jr.**

Harry didn't bother with a time. He just wanted to get what he felt was his duty over with, then go back downstairs and play video games. He closed the book with a smart snap, hid it away, and bounded downstairs, ignoring the Shinigami's sudden cackling.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"H-how could this happen?" Darcy choked out. His brain was frozen, and his eyesight was blurred with tears.

" _It just appears to have been a random heart attack. He seemed to be in good health, then suddenly passed away this afternoon."_ The other man said mournfully.

Darcy worked to process this information. It didn't make any sense. His father had been one of the healthiest men he had ever known. Hell, he was so fit that he and his father were sometimes confused for twins!

So why?

Suddenly Darcy's breathe went out of him, and he felt like someone had punched him in the chest. He lurched forward, the phone falling and cracking on the ground as Darcy fell on his hands and knees, cutting his hands on the glass.

He couldn't breathe. All his life he could breathe, and now he couldn't. How? Why? He wasn't able to get out a cry for help. His vision dimmed, and his muscles quivered. Then, his strength gave out, and he fell.

Darcy Jeffries Jr. died in agony and confusion, just like his father had.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Harry hummed happily to himself as he pushed the buttons on his controller, and chatting amiably. His smiles came easily, and his cousin commented he looked a lot better without glasses.

Yes, Harry was content with his lot in life and knew himself to be the happiest boy in the world.

And it was all thanks to the Death Note.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 **Please Review!**

 **Hey all, it's me again. I got a pretty decent response to this story, quite a few favorites and follows, but more reviews would definitely help with the writing process.**

 **Yes, Harry has the Shinigami Eyes, pretty early on too. Like I said, he's not a younger Light Yagami, but he will (hopefully) be stronger.**

 **I tried to make Harry's use of the Death Note and his reaction to using it realistic. After all, he is a child, and using it significantly improved his life. So he'd look at it pretty favorably.**

 **I'm trying to decide whether or not to spend more time in Harry's childhood with his adventures with the Death Note, or to move onto Hogwarts from here. Your opinion in this would be much appreciated.**

 **Any notes, ideas for pairings, theories about the Shinigami, suggestions for improvement, shoot me a PM or post a review!**


	3. Discovery

Harry Potter and the Death Note

Chapter 3: Discovery

Things had changed much for Harry Potter and his family over the course of the next several years. While the changes in Dudley and Harry were quicker to manifest themselves, Petunia had changed much in the next several years as well.

The school psychologist, Penny, who had begun advising Petunia on Harry and Dudley's development, began noticing Petunia had some rather unhealthy habits of her own. As she was technically not supposed to advise anyone outside of the schoolchildren, she began seeing Petunia in a non-professional capacity, coming over several times a week for tea.

As time went on, the two became closer, and Penny began helping Petunia get rid of some of her worse habits. Petunia stopped obsessing so much over perfection, and more importantly, on her figure. She gained some much needed weight, ironically the opposite of what had Dudley needed, and stopped looking so horse-like. In fact, she began to look very much like her deceased sister.

However, when Petunia stopped obsessing over keeping the house perfect and maintaining a perfectly 'normal' image, she lost many of her friends around the neighborhood, until all her friends were from her work, and Penny. In fact, one of the reasons she lost the support of so many housewives was because of rumors that Penny and Petunia had begun seeing each other.

Although after the years, those rumors took on the semblance of truth. Though all Harry and Dudley noted was that Penny became almost a permanent fixture of the Dursley household, and that Petunia became much happier.

In a twist of fate, Petunia and Penny's salaries combined was higher than what Vernon had provided, and Harry and Dudley were much better provided for.

Everything was finally perfect in the Dursley household, for all of them.

"Harry, darling, you've got mail." Penny called, walking into the kitchen with her arms full of envelopes. Harry paused from making breakfast with Dudley and scampered over to the curly haired woman, curiosity burning. Did he even know anyone that would send him mail?

Harry took the mail and noted with some confusion that, while it was made of heavy parchment, it glowed slightly with a golden color, as if a flashlight was being shined on it. He shrugged and focused on the writing itself, written in green ink, with very peculiar handwriting. It was his name, address, and eerily enough, it even had down the room he resided in.

Frowning, he turned it over and noticed the flap was sealed shut with a dollop of actual wax, with an elaborate emblem stamped into it. A bird, a snake, a badger and a lion, all surrounding an ornate letter H. The stamp itself was practically glowing with the same light that barely illuminated the rest of the envelope.

" **So, are you just gonna stare at it, or are you gonna open it? Not every day that a mysterious letter comes for weird children."** Harry levelled a glare at the dark spirit that was maneuvering around the kitchen, stealthily stealing bacon strips, but heeded his advice anyway. He tore open the envelope and unfolded the two thick papers inside.

 _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

 _Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore_

 _(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc, Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)_

 _Dear Mr. Potter,_

 _We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment._

 _Term begins on September 1_ _st_ _. We await your owl by no later than July 31_ _st_ _._

 _Yours Sincerely,_

 _Minerva McGonagall_

 _Deputy Headmistress_

"What've you got there, Harry?" Petunia had come down for breakfast, still fixing her hair into a bun on her head, kissing the top of Dudley and Harry's heads.

"I got a weird letter, Auntie. Some prank." Harry made a dismissive gesture and set the letter down on the table, loading his plate up with some bacon and toast. When he raised his head from his plate to ask Petunia to pass the butter, he saw she was frozen.

"Harry…" She said calmly. "What does that letter say?" At her tone the rest of the family looked up, and Penny had a strange light in her eyes. Harry hesitated at her demand. "Go on, darling, tell her." Penny coaxed.

"It says I've been accepted to Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry." Harry got out. Dudley snorted in laughter, but lost his air of amusement when Penny and Petunia exchanged significant glances.

"No way…" Harry breathed. Could it be true?

"Keep reading." Petunia commanded. Harry groped for the other letter and brushed his hair out of his eyes to read better, now out loud.

" _UNIFORM_

 _First-year students will require:_

 _1\. Three sets of plain work robes (black)_

 _2\. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear_

 _3\. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)_

 _4\. One winter cloak (black, with silver fastenings)_

 _Please note that all pupil's clothes should carry name tags._

 _COURSE BOOKS_

 _All students should have a copy of each of the following:_

 _The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1)_

 _by Miranda Goshawk_

 _A History of Magic_

 _by Bathilda Bagshot_

 _Magical Theory_

 _by Adalbert Waffling_

 _A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration_

 _by Emeric Switch_

 _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_

 _by Phyllida Spore_

 _Magical Drafts and Potions_

 _by Arsenius Jigger_

 _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_

 _by Newt Scamander_

 _The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection_

 _by Quentin Trimble_

 _OTHER EQUIPMENT_

 _1 wand_

 _1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)_

 _1 set glass or crystal phials_

 _1 telescope_

 _1 set brass scales_

 _Students may also bring, if they desire, an owl OR a cat OR a toad."_

Harry set the letter down and looked nervously at Penny and Petunia. Dudley met his eyes and looked at him questioningly. "Those don't even sound like real names." Dudley said dismissively, trying to lighten the atmosphere.

"Not now, Dudley." Petunia snapped. Dudley looked shocked that she would do so, and Harry doubly so. Petunia _never_ snapped at Dudley.

"Now now, Petunia, we knew this would happen someday." Penny put her hand on Petunia's shoulder comfortingly.

"Wait, so this is true?" Harry blurted out. He had known magic had existed for years; the Death Note was absolute proof of that. But Harry himself was actually magic? One that could use a wand and do magical things?

Petunia gave him a measured look, and for a moment Harry thought she was looking at someone else. Then something seemed to give inside her, and she nodded sharply. "Yes, it's real. You're a wizard, Harry."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Holy. Shit." Dudley gasped.

"Dudley! Watch your mouth, young man." Petunia berated. But neither Dudley nor Harry were paying attention, as they were far too busy being amazed at the surrounding Diagon Alley. Even Penny, who was usually measured and composed, was as wide-eyed with amazement.

The family had decided to go off to Diagon Alley after waiting for a few days for a professor to show up, but none did. They all agreed it would do no harm to go themselves, as Petunia knew what to do, and if a professor showed up then they would already be done.

But this place was so amazing that just staying to getting school supplies might take a while.

Before Harry and Dudley could run off into the crowd, Petunia grabbed the back of their shirts and kept them in place. "Now, both of you, I know this is exciting, but we need to get Harry's supplies. After we get those you both can look around. But for now we go off to the bank to convert some money." She ordered.

Dudley and Harry both grumbled, but complied.

Time to go shopping.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Hagrid flew through the air, zooming around close to 200 MPH on his enchanted motorcycle, Orion. It was so infrequent that he got to take Orion out for a spin that he treasured every opportunity to take it out, especially at this speed.

But it was already getting close to the end of his trip. Hagrid tilted the bike down and came down closer to the ground, quickly coming down into the residential district of Surrey. He pushed the button to turn off the invisibility when he hit the ground, not noticing the man out getting his mail that noticed him flickering into visibility.

That man then went inside to hang himself. Sadly enough, this had nothing to do with him having seen a man use magic. He just had a sad life.

Hagrid finally slowed to a stop on the street opposite Number 4, Privet Drive. It looked rather different from when he had last seen it. Everything looked…less organized. Not that it looked worse, but it looked less like a set from a stock photo. It looked lived in.

Hagrid parked Orion and removed his goggles, brushing bugs out of his beard as he got off. He lumbered over to the house, not noticing that the lights were off and no one appeared to be home. He enthusiastically knocked on the door, grinning happily at the thought of once again seeing little Harry.

Unfortunately for the door, Hagrid's knocking caused the door to cave in. Hagrid grimaced slightly and looked around to make sure no one was around. He stepped inside and waved his pink umbrella, refitting the door pieces into the frame.

"Sorry o bout that, didn't mean fur that to happen." Hagrid mumbled apologetically. He looked around and squinted. Huh, they should have been waiting for him to take Harry to Diagon Alley. Maybe they were asleep or something.

Hagrid cast the magic detection spell around the house, getting back only a single response from upstairs. Hagrid pounded up the stairs and cast the spell again, narrowing down the room he needed to go to. Hagrid made sure not to cave in the door this time, now simply unlocking the door magically, allowing it to swing inwards slowly.

" 'Ello, Harry! I've come to take you to Diagon Alley!" Hagrid announced joyfully, stooping to come into the room. But the room was completely empty. Hagrid frowned and cast the spell again. The wave of magic washed over the room, and got back a ping, from over by the bed.

Hagrid looked closer at the bed and noticed an indentation; almost like a very large something was resting on it. Or someone…

Hagrid may not be the most intelligent of men, even among wizards, but Hagrid did have what most people would call a heart of gold. When he found no people in the house of the Boy-Who-Lived, and what appeared to be an invisible person in one of the rooms, he jumped to a pretty logical conclusion.

Though how he went about it was pretty… explosive.

Hagrid whipped his pink umbrella around to point at the bed, a Bombarda shooting out of the end. The spell impacted the bed and tore the bed apart, not hitting anything else. Hagrid moved his eyes around the room, checking for any of the inconsistencies usually present in disillusionment charms, but catching none.

Hagrid cast the detection spell once more, not getting any results. His giant brow crinkled in confusion. There had been someone here , and they had just disappeared? No one could do that. There were no signs of Apparation at all, and not even Dumbledore could Apparate silently.

Hagrid thought over the situation and flushed slightly. Maybe he hadn't cast the revealing spell properly. He did that sometimes. And perhaps family was just out for breakfast or something.

Hagrid was about to repair the bed, when his eye caught on something among the rubble. A thick fancy book that looked out of place among the more pre-adolescent features of the room. Hagrid leaned over and picked it up, leafing through it curiously. It was some sort of business textbook, really advanced stuff.

When Hagrid was about to set it back down and repair the bed, a smaller black book slid out of the pages, falling on the ground. Hagrid's curiosity peaked, and he ignored the small voice in the back of his head that told him to leave well enough alone.

Hagrid cracked open the book and found it to be a notebook, filled with names and times.

" **Ooooh, isn't this a conundrum?"** Hagrid dropped the book and turned, startled.

Like a bat, the man clung to the ceiling, his dark cloak mixing in with the room's shadows, and an insane sharp smile on his skull-like face.

" 'O are you? What are you doing 'ere?" Hagrid demanded. He pointed his umbrella at the strange creature, prepared to use lethal force to protect the home he had already invaded.

The creature cackled and fell from the ceiling, then crossed the distance between the two, lifting up the large man with a single arm. He leered up at the chocking man, dark fire dancing madly in his empty eye sockets.

" **I did not expect this to happen."** The creature mused out loud. Then he laughed again, looking up at the struggling half-giant. **"I wonder what Harry is going to do when he gets here…"**

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Why hello, Mr. Potter." Ollivander murmured softly. His pale eyes focused on Harry in an odd way that seemed oddly familiar. He then turned his unblinking eyes to Dudley. "And the young Mr. Dursley, I was not aware you were on the Hogwarts list."

"I'm not…How did you know our names?" Dudley questioned, looking faintly uncomfortable. Harry had to agree with his cousin, it was creepy. Harry didn't exactly feel comfortable being alone with this man, as Petunia and Penny had elected to go down the street to the pet shop while he and Dudley got the wand.

Ollivander clapped his hands and smiled. "Oh, it's so good to see family coming together like this; you would not believe the division that magic wreaks on most families." As he talked he waved his wand and various tape measures began to assault Harry, measuring his arms, legs, and various orifices. He didn't answer Dudley's question.

Dudley stifled a laugh as Harry awkwardly tried to pretend that his personal space wasn't being invaded. Ollivander nodded and the tape measures all flew into a drawer, then an array of dusty boxes flew out of the depths of his shop.

Harry awkwardly picked out a wand from one of the boxes, a length of white wood, but Ollivander whipped it out of his hand, muttering something under his breath, placing it reverently back in its box and handing Harry a new one.

That process continued for almost a half hour, so long that Dudley began browsing among the wands, commenting on which ones were 'cool' or not. Ollivander was too focused to tell the boy off, too concerned with being delighted with Harry's lack of results.

Finally, just as Harry was about to lose his temper, Ollivander gained a thoughtful look. "Maybe we're looking at the wrong wood…" Ollivander muttered. He swished his wand thoughtfully and brought out a new box, one that was smaller than the rest.

Ollivander opened the box and handed Harry a wand that was a handsome brown, and perhaps only six inches long. Ollivander practically stuffed the wand into Harry's grasp. Intrigued, Harry waved the wand, and felt something pull.

A wave of white sparks flew out of Harry's wand, and a cool rush of air blew through the air. Harry closed his eyes to enjoy the breeze for a moment.

"M-Mr. Potter, if you could s-stop that please." Ollivander's voice was oddly weak and stuttering. When Harry opened his eyes, he saw the man's teeth were chattering, and had a look of near emotional torture on his face.

Harry tried to stop, but ended up pulling harder. Sparks began swirling around his wand and the breeze got stronger. Harry grit his teeth and cut off the pull in his gut. The effect was immediate. The breeze stopped, and tears of relief began streaming out of Ollivander's eyes as he took great breathfuls of air.

Harry stared at the wand in his hand with disbelief. How had he done that?

"Hey, what's going on in here?" Dudley came wandering in out of the isles of boxes, looking confused. Apparently the effects of Harry's magic hadn't reached him. "Did you find your wand?"

"Indeed he did." Ollivander seemed to have regained his composure, and stood tall, an odd look in his eye. "That was a very powerful reaction, young Potter. Completely unlike your parents, theirs were rather…fiery. Yours remind me of a different young man."

Harry's grin at his powerful reaction dimmed slightly when he heard that. He did have a family now, a great one, but… he still wanted to be like his parents. He only really knew what Petunia could tell him, and Harry didn't like pushing her.

"Willow, six and a half inches, coupled with phoenix feather. Odd combination." Ollivander moved closer to him, looking him intently in the eyes. "Why is that odd?" Harry kept the waver out of his voice at the old man's creepiness.

"Willow is a powerful wood. In fact, a famous Ollivander family motto is that those who have willow wands will go far. It is said to embody magic itself, to have strong connections with the cycles of life, especially death and rebirth. It is linked to the willpower of the user, the more powerful the will, the more powerful the magic. It cleanses the mind, and opens the way to a truer sight."

He got closer to Harry and Dudley edged closer, prepared to pull the old man off of Harry. "It is also the kind of wood your mother's wand had."

That was the most important information. All of the rest of that mumbo jumbo didn't really matter after the information about his mother. Harry looked down at the wand in his hand.

Dudley put a hand on Harry's shoulder and tried to lighten the mood with a joke. "You've got a pretty tiny wand there, Harry."

Ollivander tutted in disapproval. "My wands are not meant to be phallic substitutes, Mr. Dursley."

The two boys chuckled, and Ollivander held out an expectant hand. With a twinge of disappointment, Harry tried to hand the short wand back to the man, but he shook his hand. "No, Mr. Potter, that wand is yours. However, I require payment. Seven Galleons, if you please. Or 119 Sickles, or 3,451 Knuts. Whichever is easier."

Harry nodded, and fished for his bag of wizarding money. He pulled it out and counted out 3 Galleons, all he had. He flushed slightly, looking over at Dudley, who shrugged. "Uh, this is all I have on me." Harry muttered.

Ollivander gave him a look of disappointment. "I suppose you will have to go fetch your guardians then. I cannot allow a Hogwarts student to leave without a wand, so Mr. Dursley will have to go get them." He decided.

Harry and Dudley shared a look. Even if he did provide Harry with a wand, the man was still super creepy, and neither was comfortable with leaving Harry alone with him. Stranger Danger and all that. For the first time Harry wished he had brought the Death Note with him.

"I'll go get them then." Dudley said. "Stay put, Harry."

Dudley darted out the door, and disappeared into the Alley.

A hand clamped down on Harry shoulder, and he screamed in panic. "STANGER DANGER! STRANGER DA-!"

Suddenly no noise could come out of Harry's mouth, and he looked up to see Ollivander's wand pointed at him, as well as an exasperated look on the old man's face.

"Please do shut up, Mr. Potter. I'm not going to molest you. I do have a wife after all." Ollivander sighed. "But we do need to talk."

Harry glared at the man and tried to bring his magic forth, tried to force the pull in his stomach. No result. He couldn't do it on command.

"Oh stop that, I'm here to help. You have them to don't you? You have the Eyes." Harry froze, and looked at Ollivander in disbelief. A look of concentration appeared on his face, and the man's pale eyes turned a bright, bloody red. They faded, and the man chuckled. "Yes, you must learn to control that, lest you scare your classmates. Yours activated when you were using your wand."

Rather than comfort him, this scared Harry. Somebody else out there had the Shinigami Eyes? That meant… the old man had a Death Note too.

"Don't be scared, Mr. Potter. While it is rare, those who have the Eyes of Truer Sight are not uncommon. In fact, many famous men and women have possessed them. However…you are the first person whose life span I can't see with mine. Curious…"

Wait a minute… Truer Sight?

Ollivander began pacing, and his voice took on a lecturing tone.

"I assume you do not know much about your power, so I shall take the responsibility of informing you. Ahem…We don't know why or how some magicals obtain the Eyes of Truer Sight, but they gain it at birth, and it is a sign of great things to come. After all, we are the few people who are able to see magic in its truest form. A strange side-effect of this is the ability to see a person's name, and lifespan."

Ollivander gave Harry a very serious look. "It is a great gift and burden, to see how long a person has to live. Some have gone mad with that very power. In fact…" The man brushed Harry's hair to the side, revealing his scar, a bolt of lightning on his forehead.

"The best example of someone who could not handle the burden is the very man that killed your parents."

A cold overtook Harry. His parents… had been killed? Vernon had always said they died in a car crash, and Petunia didn't like to talk about the accident that killed her sister. Harry moved his mouth, trying to speak, and Ollivander flicked his wand at the boy.

"They were killed? How? And by who?" Harry demanded. Ollivander raised a single wispy eyebrow.

"You didn't know?" The old man was very surprised. "Your guardians never told you?"

"Never. I was told they died in a car crash."

"Well then, never expected that, now did he…" Ollivander muttered. He cleared his throat. "Your parents were essential members of a rebellion against a very dark, very powerful wizard. They defied him so many times that he made it a priority to kill them, so they went into hiding with you, to protect you. Unfortunately, they were betrayed by a friend, and that dark wizard tracked them down, and killed them."

"Luckily for you, and for all wizard kind, something peculiar happened. He tried to kill you, and failed. His own magic was reflected back at him, destroying him, saving all of us. No one knows why, or how, and that's why you are beloved. You are the only one who has survived the infamous Killing Cure. You are the Boy-Who-Lived."

Harry felt an unpleasant chill go through him. Those words felt significant, and powerful. He wasn't just Harry, he was someone. Someone his own parents had died to protect. Someone who had defied death.

"Who was it? Who killed my parents?" Ollivander stared at him with an odd look on his face, not speaking for quite a few moments.

"The world knows him today as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, for his very name strikes fear into our hearts, and reminds us of the darkness of the world. But those who are strong enough… call him Voldemort."

Voldemort. The name sounded exactly as ridiculous as wizards would come up with, but was malevolent all the same. It was the name of a man who killed and destroyed, who tore flesh from bones and laughed among the corpses of innocents.

Harry didn't want to use the name. He didn't feel strong enough, he was just Harry.

"You're wrong."

Harry looked up into the eyes of Ollivander, questioning. The old man chuckled. "I could see it on your face. Survivor's guilt. Doubt. It's all very clear when you look for it." He put a hand on Harry's shoulder, but Harry didn't freak out this time.

"Every person who doubts themselves is greater than they believe. You will do great things, even if you don't mean too. Because you are Harry Potter; not just the Boy-Who-Lived. It is up to you to decide in what way you will be great. For even He-Who-Must-Be-Named was great, but he was not good. It is how you will decide to use your power that makes you who you are."

Harry looked at the man and opened his mouth, wanting to say something, tell him about the Death Note maybe, but just then the door flew open, and Dudley flew inside. "Hey Harry, I got the money. Thank you Mr. Olliander, but we have to go."

Harry's cousin grabbed his hand and dragged him out after putting down several gold coins, not giving Harry the chance to talk to the man. Before he was out the door, Harry heard Ollivander say something.

"Remember, it's the intentions, Mr. Potter, that make the man."

Then he was gone.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

By the end of the day, Harry was exhausted. He had purchased everything he needed for Hogwarts, bought several prank items with Dudley, gotten an owl, gotten a wand, and most importantly, learned about his parent's deaths.

The whole day was an emotional rollercoaster he had not prepared to ride, but he was keeping it together best he could.

On the other end of the spectrum, Penny and Dudley were still ecstatic despite their tiredness, chattering excitedly in the car all the way home. One may have mistaken them for the ones to find out they had magic.

Petunia drove in silence like her nephew. Her eyes were distance, looking at something no one else did. Harry sympathized with that.

They got to the house as night fell, and they all agreed that moving most of the things into the house would be a task for tomorrow, except for the essentials. Harry grabbed the cage out of the back of the car that housed the family's new pet, a snowy white owl used for communication.

They were all so tired that none of them noticed the giant black motorbike parked on the side of the road.

As they got in, everybody returned to their rooms, intent on sleeping very well that night. It had been an exciting day.

For Harry though, things were about to get even more exciting.

When Harry entered the room he expected to see the Shinigami playing with toys on the floor, not for him to be sitting on the chest of a giant man in a coat, braiding the man's scruffy beard. Harry almost dropped the cage, but caught himself, and closed the heavy door before putting the sleeping owl's cage in the corner.

"What are you doing? Who is he?" Harry hissed.

The Shinigami laughed, as he often did. **"Well, this is one Rubeus Hagrid, and I'm braiding his beard. I have to say, his beard is very soft, he must condition it."**

"But why is he here? Why is he unconscious?" Harry came over and looked at the man's face, seeing that his name was indeed Rubeus Hagrid.

The Shinigami shrugged. **"Hell if I know. All I know is he barged in here and blew apart your bed. Then he found the Death Note. He kinda passed out after I choked him a little. What a wimp…"**

Harry froze, and then looked over at the other side of his room. In his confusion, he hadn't even noticed the state his room was in, nor the black notebook sitting innocently among the wreckage.

This man was a wizard, and he had found the Death Note. Some of the writing in there was clearly Harry's, and if he went back to the wizarding world with that news, Harry would be a murderer, and probably never be able to go to Hogwarts.

" **What to do, what to do. Quite a conundrum, isn't it? You could kill him, but then you have a dead man in your room, and you'll never find out why he was here."** The Shinigami thought out loud, while fixing Rubeus's hair into pigtails.

It was quite a conundrum. Harry didn't even know this man, not really, but Harry's life was finally complete, and this man being here could screw the whole thing up. He bit his lip and a bead of sweat dripped down his face.

Finally, a thought came to him, and he came to a decision.

Harry looked among the fluff and wood, finally coming upon his little pencil. He flipped open a page in the Death Note and thought for a moment on the exact wording on what he needed to do. Time to put this theory into action.

 **Rubeus Hagrid wakes up at 9:30 PM and repairs what he destroyed. He then explains why he came to the Dursley household to the nearest person, as well as answering any heard questions. When he has done that, he goes to put his affairs into order, doing his best to not raise suspicion, and then has a fatal heart attack at 11:30 PM, in public.**

Harry put the last period on the last sentence and waited. When it hit 9:30 the enormous man sat up, his body passing through the Shinigami's, who squawked in protest. Harry felt a shot of elation go through him. It worked! He could control people before their death!

Rubeus's eyes focused on Harry, and he was surprised to see no fogginess or cloudiness in the giant's eyes. Didn't mind control usually do that? Rubeus waved his pink umbrella, magically repairing Harry's bed, which he then sat on, making the wood creak.

"I was sent 'ere by Professor Dumbledore to take Harry Potter to Diagon Alley." Rubeus started speaking, his voice deep and gruff. "I was to take him to get his money, and then retrieve the Philosopher's Stone." Oh shit. This guy was supposed to be the person to take him to Diagon Alley.

" **Hehe, I guess that was a mistake."** The Shinigami chuckled. Harry turned to him and opened his mouth, but the Shinigami cut him off. **"No, I cannot cancel the Death Note's effects. Once it's written, then there's nothing to be done."**

Harry clicked his tongue. This certainly was annoying. He didn't even notice that his mind was so warped he considered killing an innocent man to be more of an inconvenience than anything else. He planned to dismiss the man, but then the man stood up and began pulling things out of his pockets.

"What are you doing?" Harry questioned the man. "Putting my affairs in order." Rubeus said curtly.

As he searched two keys fell out of his pockets, both of them clicking down on the ground, both of which Harry picked up and examined. One had an ornate 'P' on it, while the other had the number 713. All the while Hagrid's attention was focused on pulling things out of his pockets, searching for something.

"I can't find 'em now, but the key with the P on it is 'Arry Potter's, while the other one is Professor Dumbledore's, it's the key to the Philosopher's Stone. Please give those to them." He then pulled out what looked like motorcycle keys, giving them to Harry.

"These are also 'Arry's, they're the keys to Orion, I left it outside." Rubeus patted the rest of his coat, and then shed it completely, letting it fall to the ground. Then he started for the door.

"Where are you going?" Harry was confused. "Public." Once again the answer was curt and clear. "What about your affairs?"

Rubeus shrugged. "That's all I 'ave. No family. No Gringotts vault." He stood still for a moment, as if waiting for more questions, but when Harry stayed silent, he simply left.

Harry stared at the keys he now possessed, then put them in the coat and hid it in his closet. He would have to find a better hiding place both for his new inheritance and the Death Note in the morning. For now he put the magic artifact back in its old hiding place and got into bed.

He lay there for a long while, looking up at the ceiling. Finally he looked at his clock and found it was already past 11:30. Rubeus Hagrid, the man who left Harry all he had, was already dead.

Harry rolled over and went to sleep.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 **Chapter Three! Yeah! Sadly this is probably the farthest I've come on a story so far.**

 **Yes, Hagrid is dead. Have you noticed he never dies? Or if he does, it's never a big deal. Hagrid's death will have repercussions in this. And also I wanted to show that Harry is already screwed up.**

 **Something I think is unique to this Harry Potter/Death Note crossover is that more people are born with Shinigami Eyes, which is actually canon, as it happened to Beyond Birthday. In magical people, it also allows one to see magic, which is important.**

 **And if you were paying attention, you'd know a very important person has Shinigami Eyes too.**

 **Also, if you flame me, whether for killing off Hagrid or for making Petunia a lesbian, just know that I don't care. And just to make it sweeter, every flame makes me more likely to kill off other likable characters. Don't make me turn this into Game of Thrones.**

 **Please Review!**


	4. Departure

Harry Potter and the Death Note

Chapter Four: Departure

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Harry was nervous. Now, this was nothing new to the boy, as everyone gets nervous at some point or the other. But this time was diffrent. This wasn't nervousness about a test grade, or having eaten dessert secretly before dinner, or being discovered as a serial killer.

No, this was the nervousness that a lot of kids felt around their peers. However, most kids didn't enter a new school where everyone expected him to be a powerful, Dark Lord defeating pressure to perform made his hands sticky with sweat and he felt warm. "Penny, do I have to dress like this?" Harry whined, tugging at the tightness of the tie around his throat.

Penny nodded sharply and once more tried to flatten a few stray ends of hair sticking up on Harry's head. After a few years of proper washing and combing it settled down, but random ends still stuck out like thorns. By request, his bangs fell low enough to cover his scar.

"Yes you do, darling. You said you were some big celebrity among the wizards, and you need to live up to that if you don't want to be beat down. Plus you look very handsome like this."

Harry flushed in embarrassment as a teenager caught sight of Penny slicking back his hair and sniggered. "People are looking!" He hissed, seeing all the people bustling around the crowded train station. Thankfully most of them were too concerned with going about their business to notice Harry's embarrassment. Actually, people looked more at the snowy white owl, Hedwig, than at her owner.

However, Dudley was doing his best to make up for that lack of attention. "You look like a tiny lawyer, Harry." The blonde boy mocked, grinning to take the bite out of the comment. Harry tried to control his blush as Penny and Petunia deemed him ready to enter wizarding society.

He really did look oddly fancy, especially for him, as he normally preferred baggier clothing. Dudley was allowed to wear a polo and jeans, but Harry wore a smart button up with a green and silver tie to bring out his eyes, paired with dark pants and sleek new shoes. According to his guardians, first impressions were very important.

Harry pushed along the trolley with all his things on board, looking around for Platforms 9 and 10, all the while seeing different names and lifespans floating above people's heads. He immediately spotted where he was supposed to go, not because he had seen the signs, but because of the amazingly bright ball of magic he saw.

He stopped his trolley and simply stared. The light encompassed an entire wall, different colors entwining and shifting through and around the brickwork. Even though he had seen some colors around Diagon Alley, they were nowhere near as bright or complex as the wall before him. It was breathtaking.

"Harry, why'd you stop? We're here, this is the entrance." Harry nodded absently, and noted the family of gingers walk up to and _through the wall._ The light had swallowed them whole, twisting and then resuming its original pattern. It was one thing to hear his Aunt talk about this; it was another to actually watch it happen.

" **Yes, it's all very pretty. Let's get on with this, I'm bored."** The Shinigami groaned, floating in the air above Harry. He hadn't been allowed to bring any toys, as everyone would be able to see them float in the air, so he was very grumpy.

Harry heeded the Shinigami's request, wheeling forward, holding his breath. "Harry, wait!" He heard behind him, but then he was gone. In a whirl of light, he was staring at a scarlet steam engine. Harry looked around, seeing all the people parading around in cloaks of differing colors and qualities.

"Ooff!" Harry had stood looking too long, and Dudley slammed into his back, sending them both sprawling. It just so happened to send them both careening into members of the large red headed family.

Harry completely bowled over the only girl, who was smaller than even him, while Dudley took down a larger, rather pompous looking boy.

It took several confusing seconds to get his bearings, in the process accidently groping the smaller girl (not that he knew that), but before he could get up and apologize, someone grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled him up, choking him in the process.

Harry barely had a moment to see a red face and hair before a fist slammed into his face with a sick crunch, sending him to the floor again.

"Ronald! How dare you hit that young man?" Harry heard a voice screech. Harry glanced up and saw the mother shaking the boy who had punched him, while the rest of the family looking on, the little girl now hiding behind her father. Dudley, who had distangled himself from the older boy, came rushing over to his cousin's side.

"That kid attacked Ginny, mum! You saw him, he was feeling her up and everything!" the boy shouted back at his mother, sending a glare over at Harry in disgust. Harry glared back at the boy, but it wasn't as intimidating with the crooked nose and blood running down his face. He had to restrain himself from letting his Eyes flash.

That, of course, was when both Petunia and Penny came on the scene.

"What did you do to my nephew?" Petunia immediately got up in the mother's face, directing her attention off of Ronald and onto herself. Penny, meanwhile, was mopping up Harry's face and making sure no blood got on his shirt.

The mother swelled up to defend against the sudden verbal attack when Ronald jumped in again. "Your nephew attacked my sister!" He snarled, trying to puff up his pre-pubescent frame with anger.

"That's not what happened, Harry accidently landed on her after I slammed into him." Dudley stood beside his mother, arms crossed and arms narrowed. He was much taller than Ronald, and some of the fight seemed to go out of the boy.

The red headed father, a thin balding man that Harry saw was named Arthur Weasley, stepped in with a meek expression on his face.

"I'm so sorry about this, Ron is very protective of his little sister, and I'm sure he didn't mean to seriously harm your nephew. I'll heal him up right now, in fact. Show of good faith and all." The man's wand flicked towards Harry and his nose slid back into place, eliciting a quiet swear from the boy.

The two families parents began to talk, the less hot tempered of both (Penny and Arthur) helping calm them all down. Dudley helped Harry to his feet and the two groups left, each heading for different ends of the train.

Before they left, Harry and Ron glared at each other, both full of righteous indignation. Just before they both lost view though, Ron's eye caught on the green and silver tie the black haired boy had on, and he sneered as pieces in his head clicked into place. That Slytherin wouldn't get away with this, he promised himself.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

By the time Harry had said his goodbyes and he had found a compartment, his temper had cooled enough that he didn't immediately pull the Death Note out of his trunk and kill Ron Weasley in the most gruesome way he could imagine.

Instead, he pulled out _Magical Theory_ , and extra book he had picked up at the suggestion of the cashier at Flourish and Blotts. He was a little nervous he would have trouble performing spells in class, so he wanted to go ahead and study now, so he wouldn't get embarrassed later. Besides, everyone would expect the Boy-Who-Lived to be good at magic, right?

" **God, are you going to give me my toys at any point during the trip? It's not like anyone will want to sit with you."** The Shinigami complained. He was lying down on the ceiling; however it was he did that, and was trying to make a game out of spitting a pattern onto the floor below. It was unsuccessful.

Harry grunted and flipped a page. The Shinigami took that as a yes and phased his hand through the trunk, pulling out his favorite red fire truck. Hedwig, who was still confined to her cage, watched the ethereal creature and squawked when the Shinigami got too close.

It was a few minutes later, when the train was about to leave the station, that the door to Harry's compartment slid open. Harry looked up over the top of his book and his gaze sharpened into a glare.

"What are _you_ doing here?" He spat. Ron Weasley looked no happier to see him, but entered anyway, closing the door behind him. "Everywhere else is full, so I have to sit here. Not like I want to…" Ron glowered back at Harry and took up a position on the opposite side of the compartment after putting his trunk up, not noticing the flying red truck.

"There were plenty of other compartments, I saw them as I got on, go pick one of those."

Ron sneered at Harry. "God, you must be one of those bookworm Slytherins that never do anything." He mocked.

"I'm not a Slytherin. I don't even know what that means." Harry sent back. Ron looked confused for a moment, his temper temporarily abated.

"What do you mean you're not a Slytherin? You're so…" Ron gestured up and down Harry's body, a hint of contempt coming back into his voice.

"No, I'm not a Slytherin, whatever that means. I'm just a first year that _accidently_ fell on your sister." Harry didn't like talking to this boy. Whatever a Slytherin was, it was clear that Ron didn't like it, so it must be awesome.

The picture that had come together so nicely in Ron's head unraveled. He had been so sure Harry had been some scrawny second-year Slytherin, dared to mess with the blood traitor Weasleys, but maybe it had actually been an accident. He opened his mouth, not exactly sure what he was going to say, but Harry closed his book sharply and got up.

"I'm going to find a different compartment. You can have this one, Weasley." Harry sneered. He grabbed his trunk and lugged it out the door, carrying Hedwig's cage in the other hand. Ron didn't even ask how Harry had known his name; he just sighed and pulled out _Flying with the Cannons._

Then he noticed there was an odd splotch on the carpet that looked oddly like a skull. He leaned over and touched it briefly, then groaned his disgust, wiping the spit on a clean space of carpet.

He could have sworn he heard laughter, but he shrugged it off and went back to reading.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Harry dragged his trunk down the train until he found another empty one where he could continue reading, but it was stuck. He set down his trunk and tried pulling on the handle with both hands but it wouldn't budge. Hedwig let out a bark that sounded like laughing.

"That won't work." Harry turned around and found a pair of girl his own age standing behind him. Both were looking at him with amusement that made him feel stupid. They looked like opposites, one with long straight blonde hair and a complexion that suggested she didn't spend much time in the sun, while the other had wild brown curls and had a dark tan.

He looked at their faces and made out their name: Daphne Greengrass and Tracey Davis.

"Why not?" He questioned, pushing down his embarrassment. Were there code words or something?

"A lot of the compartments are locked by year. Supposedly some of the older Hogwarts students were tired of their…private time… being intruded on that they keyed every compartment with some sort of identification. First years have access to the least number of cabins, so we normally don't get them to ourselves." Daphne explained primly.

"That's the most official explanation. I think the adults did it on purpose, so that the first years would have to sit with one another and make friends." Tracey piped up. Daphne turned back to her friend. "I told you that don't make any sense; people make more friends within their Houses at Hogwarts than on their trip."

"Yeah but the friends they make here could influence what House they get into." Tracey shot back. Harry got the feeling this was an old argument and couldn't help the edge of his mouth curling up into a smirk.

Unfortunately, they caught onto that. "What's so funny? Do we look like clowns to you?" Tracey got really close to him and Harry backed up, his back hitting the wall. He almost went for his wand, despite the fact that he knew no spells, but she backed up and laughed. "Look at that! He looked so scared!"

For the second time within a few minutes Harry flushed in embarrassment. "I wasn't scared." He said boldly. Tracey raised an eyebrow and even Daphne looked amused. "Really? Because I could have sworn that you were getting _pretty_ pale for a moment there. Well, more than you are already." Tracey taunted.

Harry fought down his blush and racked his brains for something to say. What would Dudley do? His cousin was unflappable in the face of problems, but that was because he was big and intimidating. Suddenly a solution popped into his head and Harry let the suavest smile he could muster blossom on his face and he closed the distance between himself and the grinning brunette slightly.

"For a moment I thought you were going to kiss me. I wasn't emotionally prepared for such a leap, however pretty my aggressor was." Harry would look back on this move with embarrassment later, as he realized it was a lame line and that he probably looked ridiculous with his 'suave' look on his face.

But on an eleven year old girl, used by an eleven year old boy, it worked. Tracey rapidly turned a dark red and Harry felt a thrill of victory go through him. A large grin grew on his face and Daphne started to chuckle, which quickly turned into a loud laugh that Harry joined in on.

"Oh, I like this one; he managed to shut you up, Tracey." Daphne chuckled as she came down. Tracey didn't respond, her face still red with embarrassment. Daphne took the lead and offered her hand to Harry, which he shook.

"I'm Daphne Greengrass, and the blushing wonder is Tracey Davis. Why don't you come join us in our compartment?" She offered. Harry nodded enthusiastically. He didn't fancy dragging his trunk all over the Hogwarts Express looking for a compartment and tolerable people. Hedwig was getting grumpy with all the movement too.

"Harry Potter, I'd be delighted." Harry accepted. He appreciated that Daphne's face only showed surprise for a moment before returning to her normal expression. Tracey was not so restrained. "You're Harry Potter?" she yelped.

Harry nodded and decided to tease her some more. "You mean you would have kissed me even without knowing I'm famous? I'm flattered. I mean, I know I'm good looking but…" Tracey punched his shoulder and Harry noted that while her face was clear, her neck and ears started turning red.

"I wasn't going to kiss you, you prat." She hissed. High on his previous victory, Harry took a step closer to her until they were practically nose-to-nose. Her eyes widened in shock and she backed up, but this time her back hit the wall. "What a shame." Harry whispered, staring into her eyes.

Whatever willpower she had holding back her embarrassment broke and she blushed even darker than she did the first time. "Come on, Harry, you might break her. I kind of need her." Daphne drawled. Harry acquiesced and stepped away from the girl, grabbing the handle to his trunk.

"Alright, let's head off!" Harry said enthusiastically. After that incident at the train station, this really restored his good mood. He was looking forward to Hogwarts.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Finally, you two are back! Did you find the Trolley Lady?"

Harry raised an eyebrow and the dark skinned boy looked at him in surprise. "Oh jeez, sorry, I thought you were someone else." The boy apologized. Harry read his name as Blaise Zabini and entered the compartment, swinging his trunk onto the racks above and setting Hedwig in the corner.

"It's us, Blaise. And no. Guess the rumors were true." Tracey announced, stepping into the compartment, followed by Daphne. The three all settled down, with Harry greeting Blaise and letting the boy get over the shock of him being Harry Potter.

"What rumor were you two chasing?" Harry questioned. Daphne and Tracey directed their eyes to Blaise, who cleared his throat theatrically and turned down the dial on the light above them, along with closing the shades on the window, plunging them into near complete darkness.

"Of all the legends Hogwarts has ever produced," Blaise began, his voice grand and dramatic, ", the greatest is the mystery of the Trolley Lady."

Harry scoffed. "Really? The Trolley Lady of the Hogwarts is the most mysterious thing in a world where wizards and witches exist?"

Blaise glared at Harry and the two girls shushed him back into silence. "As I was saying," Blaise continued. "Back when Hogwarts fist opened and the Hogwarts Express started being used to cart us to school, the Trolley Lady's presence wasn't questioned. After all, those sweets would help the children bond and the extra funds would help Hogwarts in general. But after several years, people began noticing things."

"For one thing, no one knows what her name is. People have asked, but she never answers. Even the Headmasters didn't know. That's rights. Headmasters, not Headmaster. Because all this time, the Trolley Lady has remained the same. Every generation has seen her, and she always looks exactly the same."

"She's a vampire!" Tracey was the one to interrupt this time, her voice excited. Harry could make out Blaise's eye twitch and mentally noted to not interrupt anymore lest he wake the boy's wrath.

"She is not a vampire." Blaise said with forced calm. "People have thought so, but she has been shown crosses and doused with holy water, but she still lives on. She's older even than Dumbledore, who thought she was old when he was eleven. Even more than that, she seems to live on this Express. She's never been sighted anywhere else, and she only ever appears half-way through the journey to sell us sweets. After that, she disappears, and no one can find where she goes off to, even if they follow her."

Blaise leaned in, and Harry did so as well, without knowing why. Daphne and Tracey did too as Blaise's voice fell to a whisper. "She's a witch, that much is obvious, but she's older than any witch in recorded history. Perhaps she's a protector, in case the Hogwarts Express is attacked. Or maybe she's a watcher, checking for threats among the students. After all, some students are known to go…. _missing_."

Blaise paused and all three of his listeners watched him with impatience. "Or maybe they don't just go missing. Maybe she grINDS THEM UP AND PUTS THEM IN HER PUMPKIN PASTRIES!" Harry shot back as Blaise's voice suddenly rose and he had to swallow a scream.

Blaise laughed deep and malevolent, his amusement obvious. Then the compartment door shot open with a loud smash and all four of them screamed.

"Anything off the trolley, dearies?" It was an old woman with a happy smiling face, pushing a cart filled to the brim with sweets of all kind. The quartet exchanged glances, none of them willing to speak. "Nothing then? So sad, those who don't buy candy off my trolley often come to a bad end." The Trolley Lady said mournfully.

"WE'LL TAKE ALL OF IT." Blaise screamed, his eyes wide with panic. He threw a heavy purse at the Lady. There was a blur of motion, and then the bag was gone. The Lady tipped her cart over, spilling the load of candy onto the floor.

Harry looked at the Lady with amazement and fear. Her Trolley was already re-filled with candy. But more than that, he couldn't see her name or lifespan above her head. What was she?

The Lady went on her way and the door slammed shut without anyone touching it, the lights also coming back to its previous brightness without anyone touching it.

"Blaise….wasn't that all the money your mom gave you for the year?"

"Yes. Yes it was."

"…..Thank you. We owe you one."

"Damn straight."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The rest of the trip to Hogwarts passed with little more fanfare. There had been a girl that barged in looking for a toad, but that was about it. Harry passed the time by talking with Blaise and Daphne, as well as teasing Tracey. They worked their way through the candy, but there was simply too much, and they ended up stuffing a lot of it into their respective trunks.

By the time the Train arrived, night had fallen and clouds were gathering on the horizon. Harry hoped it wouldn't rain while they were still outside, these robes would get really heavy if they got waterlogged.

"Students, over here! Get in the boats, groups of four please! Don't want to fall in the Lake after all!" Harry followed the jovial sounding voice and found it to be coming from a very tiny man, who was standing on the tip of one of the boats, one Fillius Flitwick.

Harry got into a boat with his group and they all pushed off.

"No, Trevor's back there!" Harry heard someone squeal from another boat.

"Trevor? Did we miss a student?" The small man seemed concerned. He waved his wand an all the boats stopped moving.

"Sorry, sir, Neville lost his toad on the train and we couldn't find it. We're not missing a student." Harry caught sight of the bushy haired girl that had come through asking about a toad, the one who was talking. The short man chuckled.

"That's simply solved, young Neville. Accio Trevor the Toad!" Flitwick squeaked. In just a moment, a dark spot rushed into the man's hand, which he then handed off to Neville, who gave a shout of delight.

"Was that safe?" Blaise muttered. Harry sent him a questioning look and he elaborated. "I mean, if the toad was in the train, was he guided through the corridors and out the door? Or was he just summoned through a window?"

Harry shrugged. "Dunno. Magic, I guess." Blaise grumbled and Tracey laughed. With that minor bump out of the way the boats proceeded, and they soon were within sight of Hogwarts Castle.

When Harry caught sight of the Castle his breathe was taken away. It was a large, grand building straight out of the medieval period, with over seven stories of stone and majestic towers. More than that, it was bright, lit from within by its power. The light of the portal at the station was nothing compared to the complexities of Hogwarts. They twirled and intersected in odd, untraceable patterns, with delicate differences in shades that Harry hadn't seen in any painting.

Harry continued staring until the castle became larger and larger, allowing Harry to see further into its light. Then the boats bumped into the shore and Harry had to tear his eyes away from the Castle to get out of the boat.

The mass of students began walking up a steep hill until they were greeted by an enormous double door of iron and bronze studs. Flitwick flicked his wand and the knockers on the doors slammed into the metal, creating such a loud noise several of the closer students were forced to cover their ears.

Then, the doors slowly swung inwards, revealing a tall thin woman with a stern expression and a twisting witch's hat adorning the stiff bun that her hair was pulled up into. If her hard eyes and regal appearance hadn't alerted Harry to her power, then the soft drumbeat of her magic would have. He was instantly on guard. He knew not to mess around with Minerva McGonagall.

"Welcome to Hogwarts, children. Come in, come in, it's time for the Sorting Ceremony!" Harry took a deep breath and stepped into Hogwarts, followed by his new friends, new classmates, and an invisible Shinigami, whose grin never faltered.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 **Hello, beloved readers! Have another helping of Harry Potter and the Death Note! This is mostly a character introduction and filler chapter, which I'm not great at, so any feedback would be welcome.**

 **Warnings:**

 **At this point, no pairing is confirmed. Tracey and Harry's interaction reflects several interactions I've seen between close female and male friends, so while this may develop into a relationship later, right now they're more like rivals/friends.**

 **I'm honestly trying not to bash Ron, but in the situation I needed someone needed to push Harry away from Gryffindor, and Ron was just defending his little sister. So while I don't really like him, I'll do my best to be fair.**

 **The Death Note may be in the background for a bit, but it'll still be a driving force in the story, as will the Shinigami, who I'm going to name next chapter. For any suggestions, shoot me a review or PM and I'll take it into account.**

 **Warnings End**

 **The thing with the Trolley Lady is inspired by reading Harry Potter and the Cursed Child, in which the Trolley Lady IS TERRIFYING. Seriously, she's one of the most powerful things in the series, and all she does is make and sell sweets.**

 **Also, if I get enough feedback for this chapter (a few reviews wouldn't hurt) then I'll be bringing a very special friend into the story. One who has a fondness for apples.**


	5. Sorting

Harry Potter and the Death Note

Chapter Five: Sorting

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Harry stayed quiet and tried to take everything in as he and the other new students were lead into the Great Hall. The six other years' worth of students turned to look at the new students, hundreds of eyes passing over them. Harry tried to stand up straighter, but was still painfully aware of the fact that of his new friends he was the shortest.

To take his mind off of it he tried to turn his focus back onto the enormous dining hall as they walked down the lengths of the tables.

The inside of the castle perfectly matched the inside, being distinctly medieval, with well-wrought stone walls that was smooth and had designs etched into them with a perfection that seemed almost like they were made by machines. Above the hall was what appeared to be the open night sky, the stars hanging bright among the inky blackness. Harry couldn't decide whether or not the ceiling was see through or if there was truly no ceiling and there was magic being used to heat the Hall.

"The ceiling is enchanted to show the sky outside. The spell work was done by Rowena Ravenclaw and has never needed to have been re-cast." Harry overheard a bushy haired girl declare. Her voice was very loud among the awe-struck first years, and no one actually responded to the girl, but Harry was still grateful for the information. Once he focused he could see a light haze of light covering it that must be some sort of transparency spell. One less mystery to solve.

Once the conglomeration of children had reached the far end of the tables, they all stopped before the teachers table. Harry's Eyes swept over the mass of witches and wizards, reading their names. Apparently most of wizardkind liked giving their children alliterative names. How odd.

His eyes caught on the most obvious wizard, who sat on a grand golden throne directly in the middle of the table. Albus Pervical Wulfric Brian Dumbledore commanded a presence even larger than his enormous snowy white beard, but was nowhere near as somber looking as all of the other teachers. In fact, he was grinning merrily and Harry could hear him humming a tune Harry didn't recognize.

His focus was taken off of Britain's most powerful wizard when McGonagall stepped forward with a large mass of cloth clasped in between her hands. She placed it reverently on a stool before all of the tables and backed away, still staring at the cloth.

Before several children's amazed eyes, the cloth ballooned outward until it resembled a stereotypical wizard's hat. A torn, tattered and dirty wizard's hat, but still recognizable. Then, a tear opened in its brim, and a smooth baritone voice began to sing.

"Oh you may not think I'm pretty,

But don't judge on what you see,

I'll eat myself before you can find

A smarter hat than me."

A goddamn singing hat. Harry's jaw would have been unhinged at this point, but Penny's lessons about keeping a dignified image rang in his mind. Still, his mind swirled with questions. Was the hat actually intelligent, or was it just animated?

"You can keep your bowlers black,

Your top hats sleek and tall,

For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat

And I can cap them all."

Harry focused on the hat, trying to hold back lest his eyes flash red, looking over the contours of the Hat. There were folds and spots that made it seem like it had a face, but Harry couldn't read a name. Did that mean it didn't have a name, or that it simply wasn't truly alive? Harry could see Hedwig's name with his Eyes, so why couldn't he see the name of something that had just as much magic running through it?

"There's nothing in your head

The Sorting Hat can't see,

So try me on and I will tell you

Where you ought to be."

All of the questions in Harry's mind came to a screeching halt as Harry heard the next verse. Nothing it couldn't see? Did it read people's minds? Harry's breathe began coming quicker. What if it found out about the Death Note? More than that, that he had already used it several times. He wasn't certain of whether or not killing the Muggles would be considered a crime, but Rubeus had definitely been a wizard.

Several more verses flew by as Harry tried to think of a solution. Could he threaten the Hat? No, the only magic he knew to threaten it with is the Death Note, and it doesn't have power over the Hat. He couldn't bribe it; what would a Hat want anyway?

While Harry continued to turn the problem over in his mind, Tracey and Daphne were called up and sorted into Slytherin, to which the Gryffindors booed. Then, the moment he dreaded came up.

"Potter, Harry." McGonagall read out. She peered down over her glasses at him and her stern gaze did nothing to help Harry's anxiety.

Harry stepped forward and walked up to the stand. All around him whispers broke out.

"Potter? As in _the_ Harry Potter?"

"He's definitely going into Gryffindor."

"I thought he was supposed to have glasses?"

Harry strode up to the Hat, blood pounding in his ears. Just before the Hat slipped down over his eyes he saw the Shinigami's dead eyes staring into his, it's boney hand coming to Harry's head.

Two things happened in the same moment. The Hat stiffened and began to say something, its creases almost looking panicked, but then something was ripped away from the mind of Harry Potter. The Hat paused, and then began looking through Harry's mind once more, relaxing.

 _You must forgive me, Mr. Potter; I suppose even hats mistake things sometimes._ The Hat's voice sounded like a vibration in Harry's skull, and it sent a shiver up Harry's spine. _For a moment you seemed like… well, never mind._

"Like who?" Harry whispered.

 _Hm? Oh, forgive me, Mr. Potter, just the ramblings of an old hat. And do make sure just to think your thoughts, no one else needs to be privy to our conversation._

There was a sound almost as papers were being shuffled. _Well well, Mr. Potter, you've lived quite a life. Surviving the deaths of three family members before even hitting double digits shows a great deal of fortitude… Oh but there's more. Not a bad mind, but perhaps not academically inclined…I sense that loyalty is valuable to you, but it is not unbreakable…Overlaying all that, though, is a deep thirst to prove yourself._

"I want to be with my friends." Harry stated firmly. None of the houses really stood out to him and if he were alone he wouldn't care where he went. Perhaps if he had some sort of enemy in another house, but right now all he had was Ron Weasley, who wasn't sorted yet, and the friends he had made on the train. He didn't want to abandon them.

 _Do not worry, Mr. Potter. Even without your objection to be with your friends I could tell that the place for you is-_

"SYLTHERIN." The Hat bellowed.

In the face of the normally noisy greeting given when a student was Sorted, this silence seemed particularly prominent. The Gryffindors, whose hands had already been in position to clap, stared open mouthed at the Hat, minds barely able to process what had happened. The Hufflepuffs and the Ravenclaws were in a similar position, sure that something had gone wrong.

Harry Potter in Slytherin?

Tracey and Daphne exchanged glances. They had enjoyed talking with Harry on the train and he was honestly fun to be around, but neither had expected the boy to follow them into Slytherin. He was the Boy-Who-Lived after all.

McGonagall got over her surprise the fastest and lifted the Hat off of Harry's head. Harry's eyes locked onto his friends, who were just as motionless as the rest of the school. He made no move to get up, and Tracey panicked. She didn't want the boy to break down in front of the entire school.

"Yeaaaah!" She yelled. She began clapping enthusiastically and after a few moments Daphne joined in. Their applause did little to fill the Great Hall, but it did attract everyone's attention. The two children colored when every eye in Hogwarts turned to them.

Just then, another person began to clap. No one saw who it was, no one thought to look among the first years who were still waiting, so no one saw a conflicted looking Ron Weasley clapping his hands together.

That seemed to break the teachers of their stupor, and they began to clap as well, even though a certain sallow faced professor looked like he had swallowed a lemon. The students followed their example and Harry Potter ended up receiving a surprised, mediocre welcome to Hogwarts.

Harry didn't look disturbed by the initial lack of response. He rose smoothly from the stool and went over to the Slytherin table, his eyes sweeping over the students with a piercing gaze that no eleven year old should possess. He took his place next to Tracey and gave her a sharp grin, whispering something in her ear that made her turn red.

McGonagall cleared her throat, drawing attention back to herself, and began to read from her list once more, continuing with the Sorting Ceremony.

Harry sat quietly through the Sorting Ceremony, studying the swirls of color around the Great Hall as a way to amuse himself. He absentmindedly listened to the Sorting Hat yell out Houses, and noted that Ronald Weasley was sent to Gryffindor, where he was greeted by the other red-heads Harry had seen at the train station.

He suspected he was the only one who had seen the boy clap for him once he was sorted into Slytherin, and he tried to keep from dwelling on it. The boy had been a pretty massive jerk to Harry, but it seemed like he wasn't such a bad guy after all. Harry decided the next time they met he would do his best to be neutral to the boy.

Blaise Zabini joined his friends in Slytherin. Harry noted that the boy seemed different now that he was around other people, haughtier almost, and didn't show any outward sign of displeasure or pleasure at being in Slytherin, but Harry could see a measure of relief in his eyes.

Once the Sorting Ceremony was over, Dumbledore pushed back on his golden throne and rose up.

"Welcome, dear students, to Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!" The ancient wizard declared. "To all new students, please enjoy your first year and make sure not to give our dear teachers any unnecessary migraines, as making migraine cures give Professor Snape a migraine. To all returning students, please make sure not to knock over the first years over in the hallways, however tiny they may be."

A few titters of laughter escaped, and Dumbledore beamed as if he had received a standing ovation. "Unfortunately, despite the year's jubilant beginnings, there are a few things that must be adressed." Dumbledore continued, his jovial voice becoming slightly somber.

"Unfortunately, our dear groundskeeper Rubeus Hagrid has passed away. For those of you who have gotten to know him during your years here, please feel free to attend his funeral on Saturday by the edge of the Forbidden Forest."

Harry looked up at the teacher's table, where two seats were empty, and saw that every person looked to be saddened. He was surprised. At Uncle Vernon's funeral, there had been coworkers of his that had not been able to keep on the mask of sadness. This Hagrid fellow must have been quite a good man to have all of the staff be saddened by his death.

The reactions among the students varied. Some of them simply looked sympathetic, some were apathetic, while others actively went into mourning for the friendly giant who would often let the students study dangerous creatures up close.

"In better news, our former Muggle Studies professor, Quirinus Quirell, has returned from his yearlong sabbatical to be our Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. He has taken ill, but assures me that he will be better in time for classes."

"Hurry up, I'm hungry." Tracey groaned quietly.

"Didn't you eat like thirty Chocolate Frogs on the train?" Harry hissed.

"Yes, but sweets don't fill your stomach. Those fill your soul." Tracey stated matter-of-factly.

Harry bit back a laugh and turned his attention back to Dumbledore, who had been given warnings about something or the other.

"And with that…" Dumbledore pulled out a long knotted wand out of his sleeve, sweeping it through the air. "Horse hair! Country fair! Come and shine, friend of mine!" Dumbledore took a seat, but nothing happened.

"Er… Was something supposed to happen?" Harry whispered to Blaise. The dark skinned boy shrugged, looking puzzled. McGonagall sighed and primly clapped her hands twice. All of a sudden, the food was filled with a veritable buffet of foods of all kind.

With that, the next couple minutes were a flurry of students stuffing food into their mouths like they hadn't eaten in months. Harry, without Penny or Petunia to guide him, ate almost an entire rack of ribs, with no vegetables, but he refused to feel bad.

Taking a brief break after finishing off his rack of ribs, Harry took a swig of whatever was in his glass and gagged on the taste. He looked over with amazement as the large boy next to him who knocked it back with nary a wince.

"How do you drink this stuff?" Harry questioned the boy next to him, one Gregory Goyle. The large boy turned to look at him and his face wrinkled with slight displeasure.

"Pumpkin Juice. You get used to it." The boy said shortly before turning away and filling his plate. Harry raised an eyebrow at the behavior but shrugged and tried again, wincing less this time.

Harry managed to put away two more plates of food before all the food disappeared. Then, to his distress, piles of delicious desserts began to appear, and all the first years, whose stomachs looked full to bursting, groaned in agony.

As it was, most of the first years sat as the older years, who had been waiting dutifully, began to plow through the sweets, making sure to let their ecstatic moans reach the little firsties. It was the most painful thing that Harry had ever endured.

But something was slightly off. Harry felt something off in the air, and sometimes he thought he saw something out of the corner of his eye. But he always turned away just before a large bite was taken out of various foods, quickly disappearing into an oversized, unseen mouth.

Harry put the occurrences out of his mind, chalking it up to odd wizarding things. Finally, the desserts all disappeared, and Dumbledore rose once more.

"Now, it is time for you all to go off to your dormitories. Prefects, make sure to escort the first years, we only just found some of the ones you lost last year. But before that…."

Loud groaning filled the Hall as a ribbon flew out of Dumbledore's wand, writing elegant script in the air, large enough for everyone to read. It said "Hoggy Warty Hogwarts".

"Now, everyone pick your favorite tune, and off we go!"

"Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts

Teach us something please,

Whether we be old and bald,

Or young with scabby knees,

Our heads could do with filling,

With some interesting stuff,

For now they're bare and full of air,

Dead flies and bits of fluff,

So teach us things worth knowing,

Bring back what we've forgot,

Just do your best, we'll do the rest,

And learn until our brains all rot!"

Despite the complaining at the beginning, most of the students really got into the singing, and each did indeed choose a different tune. Blaise sang in what appeared to be a dramatic chant, while Tracey sang it as if she were a drunken sailor. Daphne and Harry sang softer songs, with Daphne simply saying the words melodically and Harry singing it to an old song from the telly.

The ribbon, which had been changing into the lyrics to be sung, turned into a burst of lights that fell down across the whole Hall in a grand and pointless display. Dumbledore wiped a tear away from his face and sighed as if a great weight had been lifted off his chest.

"Ah, music. A magic beyond anything we teach here." The old man said dreamily. McGonagall sighed and took charge, sending all of the Houses out of the Hall one at a time. Harry, full of turkey and pumpkin juice, was barely able to keep consciousness as he and his friends stumbled down into the dungeons.

The mass of Slytherin students approached what appeared to be a blank wall. A Slytherin with a badge adorning his robes stepped forward. "Basilisk."

Similar to the Diagon Alley entrance, the bricks moved out of the way and revealed a passage way. But rather than a grand alley, this passage revealed a long low room adorned with carvings of serpents and plush dark chairs. The whole room was lit with a green glow, but there was no source of light other than the crackling fire at the far end of the common rooms.

The students all filed into the common room up two separate staircases flanking the fireplace, boys on the left and girls on the right, but the first yeas didn't know what to do. Harry looked over the other Slytherins and memorized their faces, as they were to be his dorm mates for the next several years. The most memorable one was Draco Malfoy, who had confidence rolling off of him in waves.

The same prefect who had given the password came up to the group of new students, looking down on them with eyes perpetually narrowed. "I am the Slytherin Prefect, Alexander Smoke." The boy said without preamble.

Harry's eyes widened slightly as he looked at the name above Alexander's face. His name, according to his Eyes, was not Alexander Smoke, but Alexander Malfoy. Looking back between the two named Malfoys in the room, he could see the resemblance, mainly in their pointed chins and dark glittering eyes, but Alexander's dark hair would probably set most people off of the resemblance.

Ah well, best not bring that up now.

"I know you first years are tired, so I'll keep this quick." Alexander continued. "Rooms have already been assigned, and will be until third year, though boys dorms will always be on the right and girls on the left. Its two people to a room, and your trunks should have already been delivered. First year dorms are at the end of the hallway. If you have any problems, there is a bell in each room that you can ring that immediately contacts Professor Snape."

Alexander yawned and waved them off. "Go ahead and go to bed. If you have any questions in the morning contact us Prefects or the Head Boy and Girl." With that, the teenager disappeared up the right staircase.

Harry and the other first years didn't stick around to chit chat, still weighed down by their heavy meal. Harry trudged down to the end of the dorms, opening the first door he saw. Luckily enough, his trunk was in there at the foot of one of the two beds, the other bed having an elaborate ebony trunk at its base.

Harry went over and collapsed on his bed, mentally exhausted by the day and full of meat, not even bothering to take his clothes off. He barely registered that he likely looked rather ridiculous, instead slipping into the sweet embrace of sleep.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The Shinigami stared down at Harry, hanging upside down from the ceiling. He had not anticipated having to remove the boy's memories, and he couldn't simply regift them. The boy had to touch the Death Note again, which was buried at the bottom of Harry's trunk.

The Shinigami grumbled. He was in such a bad mood he didn't even want to get out his firetruck. He had to take care of something else first, but of course that couldn't be any fun. The Shinigami floated off of the ceiling and flew through the walls.

The hours ticked by as The Shinigami flew through the enormous castle, his temper growing steadily. He had underestimated how long it would take to find that damn pest, even with the power of intangibility on his side.

If he had any teeth he would have been grinding them.

Finally, after phasing through a giant painting of fruit, he found the pest, stuffing his face full of leftovers in the middle of an abandoned kitchen.

" **Ryuk! What are you doing here?"** The Shinigami's voice took on an oddly human tone in his anger.

The other Shinigami actually choked for a moment and fell on the ground, convulsing and shaking. The Shinigami looked on impassively as Ryuk's movements became more erratic and ridiculous. **"You can't choke you idiot."**

Ryuk stopped flailing about and floated up. **"Hey, Erebus, what's up? What're you doing here?"** He redirected nervously.

Erebus's knuckles popped with how tightly he was clenching is fists. Ryuk was still just as irritating as he had ever been, and even looked stupider, if that was possible.

While Ryuk's appearance would probably make a regular human vacate their bowels and turn into a gibbering mess, Erebus thought he looked garish. Ryuk looked more like a demented clown than a god of death, with a grin that never faltered, eyes that never blinked and numerous piercings littering his body. His appearance was made all the worse by his deathly pallor and what looked like makeup smeared across his face.

" **Ryuk, if you do not answer me I will crush your throat."** Erebus threatened. Ryuk backed up and seemed to become a touch paler. While such an action would not kill him, it was still incredibly painful and Erebus was far stronger than Ryuk.

" **Things were getting boring, and both you and Medula disappeared, so I decided to come down here and see what all the hubbub is about. Nothing's really seemed to change since the 70s though."**

Erebus felt emotion rise up in his chest, but he forced it down. Now was not the time to dwell on the past. **"Ryuk, you are not welcome here."** He said severely.

" **What's the big deal? It's not all that interesting here, but I figured I'd stick around for a couple days and enjoy some of this food. Those little things sure can cook…"** Ryuk's tongue, long and purple, came out and licked his lips.

" **Do not push. You need to leave, Ryuk**." Erebus snarled. The other Shinigami's smile seemed to falter when he realized Erebus was serious. He stared impassively at Erebus for a moment then began to chuckled slightly. His laughing got louder and louder, becoming so loud that, if humans could hear it, would surely have woken up the whole castle.

" **You dropped your Death Note, didn't you? That's priceless! Is that why you're wearing that cloak now? So you don't scare your little human?"**

Erebus let Ryuk get his laughs out, using the time to try and compose a proper threat to scare him off.

" **You know, if you show me where to get some quality food around here I'll kill whoever picked it up. Watching humans like this can't be that interesting after all."** Ryuk pulled out his own Death Note and his skeleton pen, eager for the other Shinigami to accept so that they could go do something more interesting, when suddenly he was slammed into a wall, Erebus's fingers digging into his neck.

" _ **You are not to interfere."**_ In the sudden dash of motion, Erebus had lost his cloak, and the sight of him was sickening. His skeleton-like body continued, the bones stained dark with what could have been blood, but where there should have been organs were writhing masses of worms and tentacles. The tentacles whipped around Erebus's body in a mad dance that showed the Shinigami's aggravated state.

" **If you do anything to mess up this mission, I will tear you apart piece by piece, then wait for you to reform and use you as a meat toboggan and ride you down Mount Everest. Then I will tear you apart again and strew your entrails across all of China. Then…"**

Erebus leaned in to Ryuk's face, just as unblinking as Ryuk himself normally was. **"I will kill you, just like I killed Medula."**

Erebus let go of Ryuk, letting him fall roughly to the ground. Erebus let his wings burst forth and scooped up his cloak, then flew out of the kitchen to return to Harry's side and find a way to get him to touch the Death Note.

Ryuk lay dazed on the counter for several minutes. Erebus and he were normally similar Shinigami for the most part, with Erebus normally being a touch more spiteful, so he couldn't imagine why he would explode like that. It must be something here in the human world.

Whatever it was, was sure to be very… interesting.

Ryuk didn't believe for a moment that Erebus could kill him, or that he had killed Medula. If he could, Erebus would have done it a long time ago. But being torn apart didn't sound like a lot of fun, so he had to actually try and be stealthy. Otherwise, he would face the eternal wrath of the second oldest Shinigami in existence.

Ryuk felt a shiver go down his back and decided to keep working his way through the leftover apple pie.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Harry woke up early the next morning as green light began to filter into the room from the ceiling from the lake above.

"Five more minutes, Penny." He groaned, mushing his pillow over his head to block the light. Harry heard a sound like a cat choking from the other end of the room that was probably his roommate.

"Pathetic, Potter, just pathetic." Harry, not being a morning person, briefly forgot himself and nailed Draco Malfoy in the face with a well-aimed pillow. Draco, caught by surprise, went down flailing, knocking over an ornate bell on his bed-side.

In that moment, Draco Malfoy forgot his family's history of proud breeding and the pureblood superiority instilled in him and responded as any other eleven year old would. He took up his own pillow and, still clad in black silk pajamas, charged Harry Potter.

The fight was one that would be talked about for generations. Pillows were exchanged at blistering speeds, strategies tried and discarded, threats and curses (the verbal kind, not the magical kind) traded. Neither gained the upper hand for more than a few seconds and within minutes they were soaked with sweat. Neither even thought of going for their wands.

That's when the door burst open, and in entered the sallow-faced professor, Severus Snape, wand aloft in case he had to forcibly separate the two boys. He paused for a moment, seemingly unable to process the oddness of seeing the Heir of the Malfoy family and the Boy-Who-Lived beating each other with their pillows.

"What is going on?" Snape's voice swept across the room like an artic gale, freezing the two boys just as they were about to deliver the deciding blow. They dropped their pillows and tried to look somewhat presentable. As presentable as two disheveled eleven year olds can look anyways.

"Ah, we were just sort of… um…" Draco stuttered, unable to come up with anything that sounded appropriate in this situation.

Snape might as well have been carved from stone. "I understand your excitement, Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy, but do try and contain yourselves. Once you have gotten your energy out, make your way to the Great Hall to receive your schedules." From his impassive voice Harry couldn't tell if he was angry or not.

He turned and exited the room with a billow of his cloak.

The two young wizards stood stock still for several seconds, not looking at each other, faces burning with embarrassment. Finally, Harry broke the silence.

"I've got to learn how to do that billowing thing." Harry muttered.

"I've been trying to do it for years. I think it's a spell." Draco muttered back.

The two looked at each other and burst out laughing.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Harry and Draco walked into the Great Hall side by side, flanked by Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. The Great Hall was normally mostly empty on most early weekdays, with most students preferring to sleep in a bit and come to grab a bit of breakfast towards the end, but the first morning of the school year was the one day everyone was there for breakfast so that they could receive their schedule. Thus, most everyone in Hogwarts saw the two boys that were supposed to be bitter enemies chatting amiably as they walked to the Slytherin table.

Draco Malfoy was the only one to sense the gazes on him, and was greatly pleased. He had shown the world that he was practically already allies with the Boy-Who-Lived. His association with Potter was already bearing fruit, as Potter brought the three new boys to sit with his other friends, officially bringing him closer to the Houses Zabini and Greengrass than even his father had been able to get.

So pleased was he with his own cunning that Draco neglected to read the Daily Prophet as he normally did, so he did not see the paper's feature article about Gringotts being robbed with a great many goblins being killed in the process.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Quirinus Quirell had never been a man of great action, being practically an embodiment of the stereotypical Ravenclaw student. He had never participated in, much less won, even a basic wizarding duel. He had never so much as stubbed his toe.

Yet here he was: the first wizard in history to fight his way out of Gringotts successfully while getting away with his prize. His magic was practically gone, his body drained from running, and his brain, so used to researching rather than coming up with escape plans on the fly, was probably the most sore.

Today was likely the best day in his entire life! Finally he, Quirinus Quirell, had achieved what no other man in history had. When he stood at the Dark Lord's side everyone would see they were wrong to laugh at him…

 _ **Quirell…**_

Despite being high on a wave of adrenaline and confidence, his Lord's chilling mental presence cut him to the quick. Most of the time he slept in the recesses of Quirell's mind but now his awareness pulled at his consciousness like icy fingers.

"Master, I have Philosopher's Stone!"

Voldemort's pleasure ran through him in waves. _**Excellent. With this my rise to power is assured, as well as your own position in my Inner Circle.**_ He hissed mentally.

Quirell gripped the package that covered the Philosopher's Stone to his chest, almost able to feel the powerful magic in it. "What do we do now?" He dutifully asked.

 _ **You will resume your duties at Hogwarts while we work constructing my new body. We will need time and materials for the ritual I have in mind.**_

Quirell hesitated for a moment, wondering whether or not he should question his Master or not, and felt a wave of dark amusement that did not belong to him. Quirell flushed, remembering his Master could hear all his thoughts while he was awake.

 _ **For your service I permit to question me this one time, Quirell.**_

"I am not aware of any sort of ritual that will allow you to regain your body exists." Quirell pressed nervously. "Would it not be safer to research such a ritual and perform it away from Dumbledore?"

 _ **No, it is of paramount importance that you keep up appearances in front of Dumbledore lest he begin to suspect that you were the one who broke into Gringotts. Everything that we need for the ritual is at Hogwarts.**_

"You already have a ritual in mind?"

Voldemort's displeasure bore down on Quirell, almost sending him to the ground. "I a-am s-sorry, my Lord! I m-merely w-wished to know so I may b-better s-serve you!" The displeasure receded and Quirell breathed a sigh of relief.

 _ **You may actually know of what I have in mind. Tell me, what do you know of Homunculi?**_

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 **New chapter! New plot twists and of course everyone's favorite Shinigami!**

 **Review Acknowledgement:**

 **Gilgamesh King of Heroes- Yes, in Harry Potter and the Cursed Child, the Trolley Lady does appear to be an incredibly powerful as well as immortal magical creature capable of negating wind resistance and transforming her hands into knives. I just decided to stretch that a bit for the sake of bad comedy.**

 **Zero- According to the two series' wikis, Harry is three years older than Light Yagami. As such, Harry would be in his early twenties by the time Sayu is in middle school. While it's not an insurmountable age gap, it would mostly only work if they met when Sayu is much older.**

 **Honest Reviewer- Thank you! I try hard. For the most part.**

 **Guest- Wish granted**

 **Adhara Snow- I feel Petunia gets dumped on a lot, and I like pulling up smaller characters and making them relevant.**

 **Toile Grant- Thanks**


	6. Renaissance

Harry Potter and the Death Note

I don't own Harry Potter or Death Note and make no money off of this work.

Chapter Six: Renaissance

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Albus Dumbledore was a man who believed very heavily in maintaining composure at all times. Many of the students of Hogwarts and indeed much of the adult magical populous would likely scoff if they heard him say so, but those closer to him knew better.

They saw the ugly truth behind the jaunty mask that Dumbledore carried around for the publics benefit, to keep order both at Hogwarts and in the Wizarding World as a whole.

They knew the burden that Albus Dumbledore carried.

After the Sorting Ceremony and Feast came to a close, Albus quickly retreated to his office. While he loved Hogwarts and their students very much, maintaining control over such a long period of time was beyond exhausting. The moment he closed the door he let out a long sigh and let the full force of his power crash against the carefully constructed wards of his office.

Several of the silver machines on his desk went to work, lighting up and spinning as they absorbed the sudden influx of magical power that surged through them. Albus practically moaned in relief at how good it felt to let the tides of his magic crash into the physical world without fear of damaging something, or worse, someone.

Albus sank into his luxuriously padded chair and once again let out a long sound of contentment as the pads warmed and began to knead his weary body. However, the small pleasures of his solitude disappeared when he considered the matter that almost always sprang to the forefront of his mind.

Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived. And now, First Year Slytherin.

Albus didn't know how to interpret the new development. While he had not hoped for the boy to end up in any particular House, he had certainly believed the boy would go to Gryffindor. It had seemed almost a given.

He popped a lemon drop into his mouth and closed his eyes as he reveled in the tart sensation, all the while his brain whirring away at the new information.

Perhaps… this wasn't a bad thing. Severus did not take kindly to any sort of inner House competition among the Slytherins and as such there were layered wards to prevent Harry from being harmed by his fellow Slytherins, and the Slytherin Common Room was arguably the hardest of the House Commons to access, protecting him from outside forces as well.

This might also be good for Severus as well. Perhaps the man's natural inclination to protect the Slytherins would teach him to look after Harry and overcome his initial hatred of the boy who wore his rival's face.

For the first time in several weeks, Albus Dumbledore was actually pleased, and a contented smile came to life underneath his enormous beard.

The moment was promptly ruined when Albus felt a thread of magic make its way through the wards of Hogwarts, quickly linking itself to his own fireplace. A plume of green fire shot up among the ashes and a distinguished looking gentleman tumbled out of the flames, covered in ash and spluttering.

Albus made no move to intercept the man, rather watching with amusement as the old man in the tuxedo struggled to his feet.

"Damn Floo System…told them to institute a Hexadecimal Stabilizing Configuration but no; don't listen to the old man who practically pioneered the damn thing…" The man wiped the ash out of his mustache and scowled at Albus.

"No, don't bother yourself Albus, I'll just deal with this myself." Albus raised an eyebrow and reached out with his mind, forcing the magic that had permeated the air to suck away the ash and dispel it before drawing it back into himself, locking it away. The old man adjusted his now clean attire and gave Albus a look of contempt.

"Feh. Show-off." He muttered, taking a seat in front of Albus's desk, running his fingers over the many silver instruments upon it. He looked around the room and nodded approvingly.

"Very nice." He complimented. "You've finally learned how to clean up after yourself, Albus."

"It only took me around seven decades, but yes, I suppose I have." The two aged men shared a chuckle, but the mood quickly turned serious. The old man steepled his fingers and gave Albus a penetrating look.

"So, you lost the Philosopher's Stone that I entrusted to you?" The man's tone was neither accusatory nor displeased but it still made Albus wince.

"I'm sorry, Nick, the man I sent to retrieve it suffered a fatal heart attack while he was en route to retrieve it. I meant to send someone else to get it, but the key was lost and you know how goblins are about replacing those."

"And then it was stolen." Albus nodded, the aged lines of his face becoming grim.

Nick sighed. "There is great power in that Stone, Albus." He warned.

"I am aware, and will take full responsibility for tracking down the thief. In the meantime…" Albus opened one of the drawers of his desk and pulled out a small red stone that reflected the light oddly. He passed it to Nick, who received it gently and began looking it over.

Nick snorted, still looking over the gem. "I'm not sure how much faith I can have in your promise to return my stone. There is little you can do while confined in this castle."

"Be that as it may, I will do my best to restore it to you. However, I expect that this Stone will suit your needs for now?"

Nick coughed into his hand and gave the Headmaster a faintly embarrassed look. "Erhm, Albus... Where exactly is this one from?"

The ancient stonework of Hogwarts practically shook with the force of Albus's laughter. Nick glared heatedly at the Headmaster as he got all the amusement out of his system. Albus wiped a tear from his eye as he finally stopped laughing.

"Do you find an old man's fading memory amusing Albus?" Nick questioned severely. Albus snorted, still thoroughly amused.

"Don't patronize me, Nick. You have more information tucked away in your head than most people will ever have in a lifetime. I simply find it amusing that you can make so many Stones that you can't differentiate between them."

Nick snorted as well, idly trailing his fingers over the facets of the Stone almost lovingly. "Be that as it may, you still haven't answered my question."

"I found it buried in the Sahara Dessert." Nick's eyebrows climbed up his wrinkled forehead and set the Stone down heavily.

"You left the castle?"

"An old man has to stretch his legs occasionally. Not all of us can take a stroll around London." Albus chuckled, but Nick's face remained serious. The amusement in Albus's eyes died in the face of his friends' disapproval.

"Albus, I know that your self-control is worlds above what most wizards can achieve, but we both know that without Hogwarts to contain your power-"Albus made a sharp hand gesture to cut off the other man.

"I am aware of my….limitations, Nicholas. However, I was able to retrieve this Stone without encountering anyone." A touch of a smile came to Albus's face again. "I even managed to do it without 'accidently' creating any new species."

Nick flushed and looked away from Albus. "I swear to God, Albus, you swore you would never bring up the platypuses again." He sighed and perked up. "Still, I do appreciate you retrieving this. The magic in this Stone should maintain me for at least a decade."

"Do you need any assistance with the magical transfer?" Albus offered. Such a procedure would be risky for his control, but it would be worth it to help his mentor and friend. Nick waved Albus off with a dismissive hand. "I may not retain much of my magic, but I can still make use of my own Stones."

"Yet you can't remember where you hid the damn things."

The two men sat in a companionable silence for a while, enjoying the familiarity of each other's company. Albus was turning over the idea of bringing up Harry Potter to his old friend when he felt another tendril of magic link up to his fireplace.

A bored looking young man popped his head through the emerald flames that licked at Albus's fireplace. "Watari, your presence is being 'requested' by the young Mr. Lawliet. Apparently he has a lead on the case."

Before Albus's eyes Nick's posture changed, practically becoming a different man before his eyes. Nick rose gracefully to his feet, adjusting the tie to his suit idly.

"I will be there in a moment. Thank you for informing me." Nick's voice became much more aged and distinguished. The young man nodded once and ducked back into the flames, maintaining a steadfast look of boredom.

"Lawliet? That's a name I haven't heard in a long time." Albus mused out loud. "I assume you have taken another young prodigy under your wing?"

A tired smile came on Nick's face. "Indeed I have, though I will admit I never figured that guiding the lives of Muggles could be even more complex than dealing with wizards."

Nick tucked the Stone into his tuxedo and tipped an imaginary hat to his former student. "Good luck, Headmaster." He threw a pinch of Floo power into the fireplace and vanished into flames. Dumbledore could feel the delicate process of warping space-time as Nick was transported back to Whammy's House.

Albus sank back into his seat and popped another lemon candy into his mouth, closing his eyes in contemplation. The fond smile on his face slowly faded into a look of weariness. Nick's presence had been a welcome distraction, but he couldn't let it distract him from his ultimate goal.

For the good of not just the wizarding world, but for the world at large…For the Greater Good.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Harry glared at the air in front of him as if he could force the feather up into the air according to his whims by sheer force of will alone. Unfortunately, even for a being able to manipulate the universe to accommodate their needs, the universe did not often respond to the grumpy wishes of pre-pubescent children.

"Wigardium Leviosa." Harry articulated clearly. He intently watched his wand, trying to catch exactly what it was his magic was doing, but it was far too fast, and the spell fizzled out harmlessly. He felt himself begin to flush at what had to be his twentieth failure of the day, and even felt small prickles in his eyes that he was quick to wipe away.

"Don't worry, it's quite all right." Squeaked a voice from just near Harry's elbow. He turned around to find a sympathetic looking Professor Flitwick. "You needn't push yourself, Mr. Potter. There is no rush in my classroom and negative emotions will only worsen your control." He advised.

Harry nodded silently and watched the Professor bound around the room with surprising agility, giving guidance to other students who were struggling with the spell.

Struggling would be a good way to put how Hogwarts had been so far for Harry.

The first week was beyond simplistic, introductions to the subjects that no one paid attention to whatsoever, all eager to get to the actual casting. However, when it actually came to casting, it was far more difficult than any of them had imagined.

The first class they had begun casting in was Transfiguration, with the stern faced Professor McGonagall. Her class had actually been somewhat pleasant. While she tolerated no nonsense, her mastery of the subject matter and articulate words simplified the process, and everyone had been able to transform their matchstick into a needle by the end of the week, though the first student was, of course, Hermione Granger.

History of Magic actually wasn't bad. Petunia had gotten a white noise machine for Dudley years ago to help him sleep, and the sound filled the whole house. Professor Binn's droning on Goblin Wars was quite similar, and Harry was able to sleep or chat comfortably. He could always read up on the history later. The only student who bothered to pay attention was, of course, Hermione Granger.

Defense Against the Dark Arts was a joke. Professor Quirell actually wasn't that bad of a teacher, as he clearly knew that his stutter was a hindrance to teaching, so he kept his lessons written on the board or delivered in as few words as possible. But that didn't earn him much respect, and as there was significantly little actual combat, most students used it similar to History of Magic. The only student that paid attention and was the top of the class was, of course, Hermione Granger.

Astronomy was terrible. Harry didn't like having his sleep interrupted, and wasn't a great hand and mapping out constellations, and he made his displeasure known. He was mostly sure Muggles had long ago outclassed the magical populace in that regard at least, but he didn't have enough hard evidence to prove it right now, but it was on his list of goals. The only person with coffee and also the top student was, of course, Hermione Granger.

Herbology was actually fun. Professor Sprout was fun and made sure that everyone got messy, even the uptight Daphne and Draco. Plus, right now all the herbs were non-dangerous and quite a few were quite tasty. Even in that hands-on class the top student was, of course, Hermione Granger.

Potions was…odd. Professor Snape was only fractionally less cold to the Slytherins than he was to Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, but he was an absolute terror to the Gryffindors. Though he did take time to give tips to Draco and the other students who were actually focusing on the potion, he had no patience for the Gryffindor students. According to Draco it was because the Gryffindors were barely literate, clumsy, and had no respect for the Head of the Slytherin House. But to Harry it looked more like favoritism and bullying.

He hadn't been sure what to do. The last time he had been bullied was years ago, and that was just generally being treated stiffly and ignored. If he could survive it, they should too, right? After all, they could learn from instruction manuals later if they were really interested in the subject.

So Harry kept his head down and just focused on making his potion with Blaise. The only student who kept their head up, to check, re-check and re-re-check the instructions, was, of course, Hermione Granger. Who, despite Professor Snape's clear disdain for her, was still top of the class, and asked questions whenever she could.

That only left Charms. Other than Transfiguration, it was the class you used your wand the most, and Professor Flitwick's boundless cheer affected even the Slytherins students. It was Harry's worst class. Of course, he was in the middle in terms of grades in both Transfiguration and Charms, but he was struggling, and was falling in Charms in every class.

There was something different about changing the reality _around_ an object than just the object itself, and just trying to force as much magic in as possible wasn't helping anything.

The top student was, of course, Hermione _fricking_ Granger.

It was awful. She was everywhere. Gryffindors and Slytherins had classes together, so she was there every day. She had been fascinated with him, as his legend was in so many of her precious books, but that had quickly disappeared when everyone found that she was just so much _better_ than him at everything.

And to make matters worse, she was completely willing to help him. It would have been easy to hate her if she just put up her nose and sniffed at him, but after she cast something successfully she would go around and help people, even Slytherins. Of course, they rejected her, but it was still grating that someone could be so _good._

Nope, Harry was not jealous. In no way, shape or form.

"Yes!" Blaise quickly schooled his face into an impassive mask before people could notice the distinguished Zabini heir cheering his own success, but his eyes still glittered with pleasure. His feather hung in the air and stayed there for several seconds before gravity took hold of it again.

Which made Harry the last to complete the spell of all the Slytherin first-years. His eyes began prickling again, and this time he could feel his nose about to run as well. He refused to wipe either away and just focused on his feather for the rest of class. Other than slight gusts of wind, no progress.

Harry waved off his friends, telling them to go on ahead. This day was…not going well. It was Halloween, and there was a festive air throughout the castle that not even the Muggle World could match, as they were also celebrating the downfall of the Dark Lord.

For Harry it was the day his parents had died. He hadn't known that fact just last year, and had he known or not been grounded by his recent failures it might not have hit him so hard, but right now it certainly was.

He wasn't exactly sure how to process the swirling emotions in his chest, but he really didn't want to be around other people while he did. He only stopped by the dungeons to drop off his bag and then set to wandering around the castle. He didn't want to see any other person right now.

And fate acquiesced for a little while. For several hours Harry wandered around Hogwarts Castle, exploring all the various corridors and cursing out the little magical oddities that seemed intent on annoying him. Vanishing steps, doors that wouldn't open unless you asked politely, and corridors that made it seem like you were standing on the ceiling until you got to the end of the hallway.

It served its purpose as a distraction, and somewhat of a learning experience. The magic that permeated the castle was much easier to observe than the quick flashes when people cast spells. He probably couldn't replicate those spells for many years to come, but it was still fascinating, and the ache in his chest receded.

Harry's mechanical watch told him it was getting late and he was attempting to find his way back to the dungeons, but he couldn't tell what floor he was on. He wandered, making sure to take a staircase down when he found one, but he was somehow sure that he wasn't getting any closer to his destination. Something was…off. The magic of the castle was acting oddly, almost like it was agitated. Harry frowned and continued walking, his stride slightly longer than normal.

Ah, so that's the disturbance, Harry thought numbly.

Hermione Granger lay prostrate on the stone floor, face down, with her wand in her hand, totally unconscious. Hovering over her was…someone. No matter how much Harry focused, the man's face was constantly changing, like it was being blurred on a camera. The man had his own wand in his hand, dark wood probing Hermione's limp body, his other hand touching her in a way Harry knew instinctively was wrong.

"Hey! You! Stop that!" Harry shouted, pulling out his wand. The man looked up and stilled.

Wait, what came next? What came after the yelling? Getting the police? But there were no police around. Right, he was a wizard, do something wizardly. But what? He didn't know any combat spells but maybe…maybe some could be repurposed.

"Minimasolis!" Harry shouted, his wand whipping towards the man. A light flared to life directly in front of the man, a bright green light that even Harry winced at, several meters away. The man cried out and stumbled back.

Harry broke into a sprint towards the man, not even sure how he could effectively drag the unconscious girl away, but hopefully determination had to help out with strength. He hadn't even covered half the distance when the man's wand lashed out and spat a dirty yellow spell out. It was a long arc, and Harry could barely get out of the way by flinging himself to the wall, banging his shoulder and falling to the floor.

Harry forced himself up, but his wand had fallen out of his hand and the man wasn't attacking, instead keeling by Hermione. Oh Lord, Hermione…

The spell the man had cast had gouged a deep cut all along the corridor, several inches deep but not thick. It had the same effect on Hermione's leg, which had been completely separated from her body at the knee, shocking the poor girl awake.

She was shrieking in agony even as the man wet a piece of cloth in her blood and fled down the other end of the corridor. Harry was quickly at her side, but could do nothing. The girl couldn't even form words; she just clawed at the front of his robes and sobbed in terror and pain.

He quickly stripped himself of his robe and pressed it to her newly acquired stump, hoping to staunch the blood flow, but it only hurt the girl more, and his cloak was quickly soaked.

Professors McGonagall and Snape found Harry holding Hermione's body, sobbing as he apologized over and over for not being able to help her. Snape snapped into action, pulling a potion out of a Bottomless pocket in his robe and pushing the manic boy away.

He unplugged the stopper on the bottle and forced the contents into the girl's mouth, quickly casting a spell to force her to swallow. The girl's already glassy eyes became totally lifeless and the blood from her leg stopped completely. Harry burst into a fresh wave of sobs and McGonagall moved to comfort the boy.

Snape cast a spell on the severed leg to freeze it and shrink it before picking up the Gryffindor girl in his arms. Casting any unnecessary spells on the girl directly at this stage could de-stabilize her even further.

"Bring the boy, Minerva. We'll question him at the hospital wing." He said shortly, already walking briskly down the hall.

"Wait, but Hermione…she'll live?" Harry questioned weakly as he was dragged through the halls by the Transfiguration Professor.

"Perhaps, Mr. Potter, Perhaps." Snape answered curtly. McGonagall pursed her lips in disapproval, but didn't correct the man.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Quirell barely made it inside the Room of Requirement before sinking to his knees in agony as his Master's anger flooded him.

"Master! Why? I retrieved the blood like you asked!"

 ** _You were seen, you fool!_** Voldemort's voice hissed in his mind. Sharing a head with a master of the Mental Arts was not a pleasant thing when said master was upset with you. Quirell shrieked as he was suddenly plunged into his most painful memory.

 _"Can't you even take a cutting curse, Quivering Quirell?"_

 _Another gash appeared on Quirell's already abused body. The face of his tormentor, Sigma Altura, sneered down at him. He had been forced to do the fifth year's homework after he had heard how far ahead of his classes Quirell was. But an advanced second year was still no match for the fifth year material, and Quirell hadn't been able to answer the questions that Altura had sent him over enchanted paper during his big Charms test._

 _The larger boy had failed and decided he and his mates would teach the Ravenclaw a lesson with hexes, curses and kicks._

 _"You'll never amount to_ anything, _you waste of space!" One of the boys spat. Quirell screamed as his arms was wretched backward, surely breaking it._

 _"I-I-I'm sorry. I'll d-d-do better!" He stuttered back._

 _"Well, looks like you aren't ge_ _ **tting another chance. That's not how these things work, do they? If we're caught there are no do-overs, are there, you sniveling idiot?**_

Quirell promised his Master he would do better, sobbing for well over an hour as his Master rained mental torture on him. But finally his Master showed him lenience for his failure, and Quirell pushed down all the pain, rising unsteadily to his feet.

The Room of Requirement had taken on the appearance of a large ritual room, dark stone covering all of the walls and several stations for potions, equations and raw materials were kept out of the main section of the room, where the beginnings of a ritual circle were already carved.

Quirell removed the handkerchief with the blood from Granger girl. Luckily he had thought to cast a preservation charm on it beforehand otherwise his master would surely punish him again. He sealed it inside a glass globe and put it aside. The part that required the blood of a virgin witch wasn't for a while yet.

Even as his master went back to sleep and Quirell himself went about working on the ritual to create a Homunculi to host his master, he turned over what happened in his mind.

Now that he was (relatively) alone, he told himself it hadn't been his fault. There had been no way to know that blasted Potter brat would be there, and it's not like he could have erected a repelling ward, Hogwarts didn't allow that sort of thing. He had worn different robes than normal, and his charms had disguised his face.

But now they knew something was wrong. That was fine. Quirell had been rash, when he found an opportunity to get one of the ingredients for the ritual he had taken it, but nothing else required such drastic action. He hadn't gotten the opportunity to Obliviate anyone, but for the rest of the year he was just going to be poor stuttering Professor Quirell.

And after that… He would be the right hand of the Dark Lord Voldemort. No one would ever mock him ever again, not his peers, not his students, _no one._ Not without dire consequences.

A dark grin curled onto Quirell's face as his carving became particularly fierce. It would all be worth it once he had assumed his rightful place on top of the wizarding world.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Goborou was the King of Goblins, for what little that meant. It meant he got a cut of all the profits from the goblins underneath him, which was all of them, and he got an ornate throne with gems imbedded in it, but he had almost no power outside of Gringotts, which essentially gave him the same power as all the lesser goblins.

His normally fearsome visage was even more terrifying as his eyes closed in thought. He had to endure many outrages from wizards in the past two hundred forty years of being king, but now his bloodlust, ingrained in all goblins but in the royal lineage most of all, was screaming for the head of the wizard responsible for robbing him.

The negotiations had not been going well for the past several months. The Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, was not an intelligent man, but he knew not to venture deeper into the goblin territory underneath Gringotts. Fine decision, intelligent move really, but to demand that Goborou come up to the uppermost level to negotiate, to breathe the same air as the commoners, that was not a smart move.

Even more grating was the fact that they couldn't even locate the person who did it! Goblins, of course, could not go outside Gringotts, so they couldn't exactly go door to door looking for the culprit, but he had expected them to do a better job! As of now, there was no one who was even a suspect, and that did nothing to help his bloodlust.

Wizards…they were pitiful as puppies and cruel beyond measure. How they had ever bound his ancestors under this damn curse he would never know. That rage was resonating with two plus centuries of abuse from the wizards, forced to work with their gold, but not own it unless they obtained it legally, not able to go out in the world to fight and plunder as was their nature.

His teeth ground against one another in his rage. He couldn't do anything to the wizards right now; they could simply bring down the wrath of their most powerful wizards down upon Gringotts upon them while the goblins couldn't do anything to fight back.

What they needed was a way to get out from under the thumb of the wizards entirely. Goborou wasn't the only goblin who struggled with their rage, in fact several thousand had to be put to death so they wouldn't kill a human inside Gringotts and endanger them all. He just couldn't _take it anymore._

"Goborei!" He barked, his voice resonating in his throne room. His advisor came running, expertly navigating the piles of treasure that were stacked around the throne room.

"Yes, my Lord?" Goborei asked, bowing low. Goborou had to suppress his distaste for the goblin, but he was far too useful to kill, no matter how tempting.

"Gather our best curse breakers, human and goblin alike." He ordered tersely.

"May I inquire as to why, my king?" Goborei asked, his face carefully blank. Goborei let his grimace turn into a grin that only grew bigger when it made his advisor flinch.

"I believe it's about time we started another Goblin War."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 **Just as a note, I'm using the Manga dates for Death Note. As such, right now Light is 5 while L is 12. This also means the proper Death Note timeline won't kick in for another 13 years. Although… a lot can happen in that amount of time.**

 **Also yes, I made Nicolas Flamel into Watari. I wanted a touch more overlap between the two series, and given that Flamel and Watari are almost criminally underdeveloped, I decided to use them. Or rather, him.**

 **Now, I normally have faith in all my readers, but I can't help but anticipate that some people will be upset that Harry isn't super good at magic already. My reasoning for that is that I didn't want to give Harry too many Protagonist Powers. The normal solution in Harry Potter is to give him a 'larger than average magic core' or something along those lines, so that he doesn't have to actually work for anything, which is something that has always pissed me off and always has two lines of logic.**

 **Number 1: Harry has powerful magic because he survived the Killing Curse/he's a Child of Fate/just because he's the main character. I do not like that. It basically allows Harry to not have to work or think about his magic at all.**

 **Number 2: He's a Potter. This has always baffled me, as the vast majority of fics also go against the whole 'blood purity' thing, but then make it so genetics play a huge role in magical power, which doesn't make sense at all.**

 **So I decided that he'll be pretty mediocre at magic, at least for now. And his Eyes aren't playing a huge role in helping since just seeing something isn't the same as being able to do it, and spells are really fast.**

 **The Death Note didn't show up this chapter, nor did any of the Shinigami. They're in the background and will of course still play a big part, but they weren't really required right now.**

 **Also…I am so sorry for not updating! If I felt emotions I would probably feel bad but to be honest, life got in the way. So many books to read, video games to play, songs to listen to…and also human interaction. Can't forget that. And it doesn't help that while I had the beginning and ending planned out for this story, I had no idea what to do with the middle.**

 **To my fantastic reviewers-**

 **Toby860- To be perfectly honest, that idea hadn't occurred to me. I probably won't take it, but thank you anyway**

 **Sameen Hadiya- You're welcome**

 **CrimsonSixx- I know! Ryuk rocks, sorry he isn't in this chapter. And thanks!**

 **Tamha- That's possible. I suck at math.**

 **Lord Light Cybergate- First off, awesome name. Second, yeah, basically. He'll probably live just as long as a regular muggle now, not that Harry knows that.**

 **Please review, it really helps with motivation. My goal is 100,000 words, please help me reach it!**


	7. Sleep

Harry Potter and the Death Note

I don't own anything.

Chapter Seven: Sleep

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Draco Malfoy was…concerned.

Not worried. One did not worry for anyone other than those few true friends that one could make in a lifetime, and Harry Potter did not qualify as that. Harry Potter was an ally, one that could provide numerous political bonuses, nothing more.

Yet here he was, still lying awake late on Halloween night, wondering where his dorm mate was. Normally Potter would stay up late doing something stupid like reading or practicing spells, which would normally summon a gust of biting cold than anything else. Draco had long learned to bury himself under several layers of covers to protect against it, but now the heat was stifling.

Draco kicked his covers off and went over to the pitcher of water situated on a stone bookshelf. There were no books there that belonged to Draco; they were all Potter's books, first year magical textbooks and multiple Muggle books that Harry refused to give up despite Draco's insistence.

He pulled out his wand and tapped it against the silver jug, and the liquid within quickly darkened into something a little stronger than water. The familiar scent of wine relaxed him, and Draco filled his cup and then drained it.

A pleasant lightheadedness filled him, but he made sure to deactivate the pitcher and return it to water. Wouldn't do to have Severus discover that Draco knew the dirty little secret of the Slytherin dorms. According to Father, every time the Head of Slytherin attempted to get rid of the enchantment, it simply reappeared, even going so far as to transforming the dormitory's toilet water into Pinot Noire.

Draco gave a chuckle at the thought of his Father's friend's ire, already slightly intoxicated. He could feel a pleasant flush work its way onto his face and already pushing that damn compassion down. Now he could just go to sleep…

The wood of the door to his dormitory groaned as someone knocked on it repeatedly.

Draco muffled a groan in his pillow, but got up and tried to look as distinguished as one could while slightly drunk and wearing rumpled pajamas. His door swung open to reveal Tracey Greengrass, crouched as if it somehow made her stealthier, and an exasperated looking Daphne Greengrass, both dressed in their own pajamas as well.

Draco raised an eyebrow in surprise. His Father had once remarked that he fully expected Draco to have girls visiting him in the middle of the night, but he wasn't sure this is what he had meant.

"Greengrasth, Davisth, what a thurprise. Why are you here?" Unfortunately, Draco couldn't keep a slight slur out of his voice, but hopefully it would be chalked up to tiredness.

Davis brushed past him into the room, but Greengrass managed to show slightly more decorum.

"She was worried since we hadn't seen Harry at dinner and knows Snape wouldn't let anyone in past curfew." Greengrass explained.

"Don't pretend like you weren't worried too, Daphne." Tracey called back. She quickly returned to the entrance, looking dissatisfied.

"Yeah, Harry's not here. You could have asked me." Draco said. The two gave him an odd look, and Draco chastised himself internally. That had sounded far too sullen to be dignified.

"Well, if he's not here, then…where is he?" Tracey wondered.

All three stared at one another in confusion, and none were any the wiser for it. There was just too little information.

"Now, we wouldn't happen to have any children up past curfew, would we?" The silky voice of Severus Snape drifted down the hall, causing all the children to stiffen. The man, perpetually wrapped in his dark cloak, appeared at the end of the long corridor that was the Slytherin dorms. His voice carried very well, and it was only the silence enchantments on the doors that kept the other students from coming to eavesdrop.

There was a multi-broom pileup in Draco's brain as he tried to figure out what to do. Severus was not known for being lenient, even when he had been a simple babysitter when Draco was little. Now that he was in Severus's domain, he didn't want to see what the punishments would be like.

He was _so_ going to have to clean the toilets after this…

"We were worried about Harry." He blurted out.

Draco was then subjected to being given three confused stares, two by prepubescent girls and one by his Head of House. He pushed down a flush of shame but continued. If this could keep him from scrubbing toilets like a commoner, then he would say anything.

"We didn't see him at dinner, and he didn't come back afterwards, so I thought maybe he was crashing with them, he is a bit of a lady's man after all, but I'm sure you know what that's like, right Professor? But, uh, he wasn't with them, so we were just, uh, trying to figure out where he might be."

Draco's brain took several seconds to process what the _hell_ it was he just said, which was about as long as it took for the other Slytherins to process what is was Draco said.

"Mr. Potter is fine." Severus said finally. "He was held up after class helping another student. He will be back in class tomorrow, perfectly fine."

Even though Draco had said what he did to get out of a jam, hearing that loosened some sort of tension in him that he hadn't been aware existed.

"Now get to bed, and if I see you up past curfew again then you'll be cleaning the toilets for the next month without your wands."

All three scampered off to bed in their respective rooms. Draco basically dove for the safety of his covers and pulled them up. Severus watched him with hawk-like eyes, or as those damn Gryffindors would say when they thought they were being clever, bat-like eyes.

"And make sure to go easy on the wine next time, Mr. Malfoy." With that, he summoned the silver pitcher and closed the door.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Erebus was frustrated. Living as a Shinigami for so long deadened your emotions to a considerable degree so the fact that he could feel anything at all right now really attested to how utterly _infuriating_ his current circumstances were.

At the center of it all lay Harry Potter.

When Erebus had taken the boy's memories, he had known that it would take a while to get the boy's memories back. He hadn't known it would take so _damn_ long.

Even though he had endured millennia in a dying world, there was something about knowing your goal was close at hand that made time seem to pass so much slower. It had been months, and Harry had still not chanced upon the Death Note, buried as it was in his trunk underneath some of the fancy clothes that Petunia and Penny had gotten him.

He could, of course, phase through the trunk and grab it, but Harry actually needed to touch the book to get his memories back, and there was a problem with that.

Erebus had seen a lot in his enormous lifespan, and had seen several Death Notes fall into the human world. Those were some of the most amusing times of his life, but there was one thing that always happened when a Death Note user got their memories back.

They screamed. Very loudly.

Erebus wasn't quite sure why they screamed. Perhaps it was the clash of two identities in someone's head, or maybe just something about the intrusion of something so dark into someone's psyche. But whatever it was, it had the same result.

And some people couldn't just leave well enough alone. If the Boy-Who-Lived came into contact with something that just mysteriously appeared out of thin air and began screaming bloody murder, then there would no doubt be some sort of investigation, and the Death Note would be confiscated, Harry would be found guilty of multiple counts of murder and the plan would go unfulfilled.

That was unacceptable.

And to make things worse, Erebus had had the perfect chance just a short while ago. The boy had been roaming about the castle, alone, and no one knew where he was. Unfortunately, Erebus had been rather tied up with a large clown-like annoyance.

Ryuk had found that pumpkins were not half bad, not as good as apples of course, but still good, so he decided he had to try everything at the Halloween feast. He, of course, did not care as much as Erebus did about the sudden disappearance of a great deal of food right in front of several dozen witnesses. As such, Erebus had to literally wrestle the other Shinigami away from the tables and through multiple stories of Hogwarts.

As such, Ryuk was spending some time…dismembered. He would eventually regenerate his limbs, but until then, the stupid clown would find it hard to get his precious apples without any way to get around.

But Erebus had lost that opportunity. Harry was still without his memories and without his most useful tool, and right now Erebus couldn't see any way to get it to him without incurring significant risk.

So he would wait.

And he would protect Harry Potter.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Harry Potter was not in a good place at the moment. Well, actually he was in a magical hospital in a magic castle in not-so-magic Scotland, which normally was just grand, but right now, his classmate was lying comatose on the bed in front of him, her skin a deathly pallor.

Harry had refused to leave her side, and for some reason, Professors McGonagall and Snape both had been alright with that. He had sat by her side for hours as the nurse, one Poppy Pomfrey, analyzed the girl's stump leg.

He admitted to being slightly panicked as the nurse had begun cutting her open.

"What the hell are you doing?" Harry shouted. He couldn't do anything, he had dropped his wand back in the hallways, but he was mostly sure that nurses didn't cut into coma patients and was going to raise hell to stop it!

The nurse stopped what she was doing and pinched her nose before flicking her wand. Harry suddenly discovered his bottom half was much heavier, and fell with a thump to his seat, and found that his limbs were heavier than iron.

"Please do not attempt to interfere right now, Mr. Potter. This is a rather delicate procedure."

"Well why are you doing it?" Harry shouted, still trying to move his limbs. The woman returned to gently tracing her wand over Hermione's arm, thin cuts appearing all the while.

"Because she wasn't placed into just a coma like you might recognize from your Muggle upbringing. She was put under the Draught of Living Death, which slows all biological functions to a near stand-still. That includes the production of blood, and as you may remember, she lost quite a bit of that earlier." Madam Pomphrey bit out, not taking her eyes off of the magic she was working on the young girl.

Her words took several seconds of struggling to sink in, but it made sense after he watched the woman levitate a copious amount of viscous red liquid that Harry recognized as blood, into the open wounds and then close the cuts as if they never existed.

"Well why can't you just…give her a potion to replace all the blood? This seems more like a normal, er…Muggle thing to do."

"Well, there are blood replenishing potions, but they all work by making the body produce several times more blood. And since she is currently producing none-"

"-It wouldn't work." Harry finished.

"Exactly." Pomphrey didn't exactly sound happy that he understood, as there was still a comatose girl under her care, but didn't sound as upset over Harry's earlier actions.

Harry watched in silence as he watched the medi-witch work, slowly placing the blood inside Hermione. The small girl required much more of it than Harry would have thought just a few hours ago.

"Where did you get the blood?" Harry asked, his mind seizing on that one detail over everything else for some reason.

"We have a several dozen liters of blood on hand actually. We normally don't need to use it, as the replenishing potions are enough for most emergencies, but I'm certainly glad we have it on hand now. That, and in case a vampire attacks and we need to bribe it."

Harry's back screamed in pain as he tried to straighten suddenly while still having his limbs weighed down. "Vampires are real?"

The nurse gave him a bemused look. "Yes, Harry, vampires are real. Don't the Muggles know this? Isn't that why they all wear those crosses all the time?"

"Err…not exactly."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Petunia Evans was a woman of rather simple tastes. She was that way quite by necessity, and never saw any reason to go back. It was just too taxing, both emotionally and financially. So she learned to appreciate her cup of tea in the morning, the pleasure of doing yard work on her own, and, her new favorite activity, reading letters from her son and nephew.

Both wrote weekly, as they had promised, and the content changed week to week. Petunia knew her boys, neither one would want to burden her with too much, but they also wanted to be able to vent, so the letters switched between distress and elation.

Until one particular letter that came right at the crack of dawn a few days after Halloween.

"Hello there, Hedwig." Petunia greeted the snowy owl calmly. No neighbor had ever noticed the little darling swooping down to deliver mail, and Hedwig was more of a lady than any housewife in the area, so Petunia didn't have to worry about scrubbing owl poop off of the furniture.

Hedwig nipped at her fingers affectionately and then presented her leg for the removal of her letter. Petunia deftly unattached it and put out some food for her guest, who was always hungry after such a long trip.

Petunia quickly picked the letter out of its envelope and found that her nephew's handwriting was much messier than before, with various splotches over the page, and it definitely gave the letter a sense of urgency. Petunia set aside her tea to read the letter as quickly as possible.

 _Dear Auntie,_

 _Sorry if this letter gets there too early and I've woken you, but I really need some advice. One of the girls in my school was injured and she'll be spending a lot of time in the hospital ward, so she'll be missing class._

 _The thing is, Hogwarts is basically her whole life, she's always studying or helping others in class, and it would kill her if she missed a lot of the classwork. I could try to copy my notes for her but she's already so much better than me, in theory and in practice, so I don't think my notes would cut it. And I can't ask anyone else for help, nobody in my House or her House seems to like her very much._

 _I really need some advice, Auntie. What do I do?_

 _With Love,_

 _Harry_

Petunia didn't know how exactly to feel as she read the letter. Obviously she was horrified that a student had been injured so badly that she had to be hospitalized, even with the advantage of magic on their side, but she was also secretly glad that Harry cared so much about a fellow student.

She had had many long talks with Penny about the woman she had been before Vernon died, and still grappled with self-loathing for what kind of person she had been and was hopefully moving away from. Things had never gotten as bad as for Harry to be physically abused, but Penny detailed all of the issues a kid like Harry could develop. She had been very worried that Harry might become some sort of sociopath.

But sociopaths didn't care about people like this, did they?

Petunia shook herself out of her thoughts. All this could wait. Right now her family needed her. She flipped over the parchment, grabbed a pen, and began to write.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Harry was having a very distressing day. Or rather, he had been _having_ a distressing day, and it had just continued since there. He had stayed up with Madam Pomphrey until the sun had rose, just trying to keep his mind off of darker matters, but the nurse suddenly seemed to realize that she was keeping an 11 year old awake well into the morning and kicked him out.

From there, things had only gotten worse.

He didn't have his wand, still having not recovered it from the halls, so he went through the class determined to take notes both for himself and for Hermione. However, he knew he wasn't the best, not by far, so he asked some of the other Gryffindors and Slytherins for help, all the while keeping from revealing just what had happened, as per Professor Snape and McGonagall's wishes.

It had not gone well.

"That girl could do with some relaxation time. Just let her rest, and maybe when she wakes up she'll realize there's more to life than school." Lavender Brown had said.

"Sorry, I really can't spare the time to copy out all of my notes. Good luck though." Seamus Finnigan had said, right before going back to doodling with his friend Dean.

The other Gryffindors had had similar responses. All had said no. Some were rude about it, Hermione clearly having done something to rub them the wrong way, while others pretended to be polite but were no more helpful. The only one Harry didn't ask was Ron Weasley; both because he didn't really want to interact with the boy and because….well, he was a bit dim.

Asking the Slytherins had actually been worse.

Daphne had flat out rejected the idea when he had proposed it, saying Granger could likely catch up when she came back to class. Tracey had been very clearly uncomfortable and also said no.

When Harry went to Blaise, the boy's face went flat and he became very stiff, refusing with a very stoic tone that he normally only used in class. Draco, of course, was a lost cause and Harry didn't feel like depressing himself further by asking.

Surprisingly, help had come in the form of Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. The two were not nearly as proud as Draco and didn't tell Hermione off if she attempted to help them, and claimed they were repaying that, though Harry had noticed that Vincent had an ugly blush across his face as the two gave him their notes to help with his endeavors. The two did make it very clear that their efforts were not to be made known to anyone.

Unfortunately, the two's handwriting was not very good, and while there were a few tidbits that did help, overall it was not worth the time. Harry didn't tell them that, but thanked them profusely.

Still, he wasn't going to give up on this. Sure, Hermione had annoyed him as much as the next person, but she had only been trying to help people, and Harry hadn't been able to help her when she needed it most.

So Harry needed outside help. He didn't know any of the Professors well enough to bring this to them, but he did have one person he could go to. Well, actually two, but whatever Petunia said would be influenced by Penny anyway.

Harry had written the letter just after dinner and sent it just before going to bed. It was lunch time the next day when Hedwig had swooped down from the ceiling of the Great Hall, from exactly where Harry couldn't figure out, and allowed him to detach his reply.

Too eager to care for manners, Harry tore open the envelope and set to reading it.

 _Dear Harry,_

 _I am sorry for whatever happened to your friend; please extend my good wishes to her._

 _On your concerns for helping your friend with classes, if your classmates won't help you then you need to reach out beyond them. Ask the upper years in your House who don't have the same bias for their old notes, or go to some of the other Houses._

 _Speaking of which, which House is your friend in? We wouldn't happen to have a Romeo and Juliet situation would we?_

Harry had to briefly stop reading to close his eyes in exasperation. Trust Auntie to turn the situation into a romance movie. But still, her advice was good, he hadn't considered it, so he kept reading.

 _Back on topic, you should look into some sort of audio-to-text spell. There have been similar advancements here in our world, so it's not too farfetched. Or at least something to record sounds so you can play it back later._

 _I hope that this could be of some help, and I expect updates on your friends' condition, as well as a name!_

 _With Love,_

 _Aunt Petunia_

"What 'cha got there, Potter?" Harry practically jumped out of his seat when Tracey's voice came from immediately behind him. She had been immediately across from him just a moment ago, so she must have crawled under the table just to shock him.

"None of your business." Harry snapped at the girl. Tracey looked startled by the sudden hostility and Harry berated himself internally. Even if she had refused to help, Tracey was still his friend.

To his surprise, Tracey did not become offended. Instead she shuffled awkwardly and sat down next to him before he could apologize.

"Are you okay?" She asked him, concern evident on her face. Harry flushed slightly at the sudden proximity, but Tracey didn't immediately jump on the opportunity to tease him, which worried him further.

Harry shot a look at Blaise for help, he was clearly concerned too, his face far more expressive than it normally was in public. Daphne was stone faced, but also seemed worried.

Draco was too busy eating to be paying attention.

"Uh, yeah. I'm fine." Harry defended quickly. "Just a little tired." It was true too, he hadn't slept at all Halloween night and his sleep last night was so brief it barely qualified as resting.

A hint of irritation crept into Tracey's expression. "We're not idiots, you know." She bit out. "All of a sudden you're obsessed with taking notes and helping Granger."

"Lost his wand, too." Draco input, wiping his mouth delicately. The four all gave him an odd look, but Draco refused to blush under the attention. "You fiddle with your wand more than you properly should. It's undignified."

"So what happened on Halloween?" Tracey got the questioning back on topic, all of them now looking intently at him.

"It's not my place to tell." Harry said quickly. "It's Hermione's."

"Oh. My. God." Blaise hissed out, his eyes frantic as he leaned across the table. "You got her pregnant didn't you?"

Had Harry been drinking something at the moment, he would have spewed it all over Blaise and Daphne. As it was, he just briefly felt the urge to throttle his friend. Daphne and Tracey sighed, but Blaise seemed to be oblivious to the fact they thought he was an idiot.

Draco gave Blaise an accusing look. "You've been drinking, haven't you?"

"What?" Blaise, for all his dramatic tendencies, was a terrible actor. "No! Shut up. _You've_ been drinking."

"Blaise, I didn't get Hermione pregnant." Harry hissed at his possibly inebriated friend. Blaise gave him a suspicious look but didn't continue.

"Anyway, I _have_ just been a little tired. Hermione is too sick to come in for class and I realized she's been trying to help other students this whole time. So I decided to help her out in return."

For a moment there was silence. Well, among those five Slytherins, the rest of the Great Hall was still quite noisy, but the point still stands. Finally, the group seemed to acquiesce, although Draco gave Harry a calculating look that Harry wasn't sure he liked.

Lunch ended soon after, and Harry and his friends went off to class. Harry had a miserable time in class, as he still didn't have his wand, but continued making efforts to copy everything down best he could. All he had to do was make it to the end of classes, and then he could actually start helping Hermione for real.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Hermione Granger woke up feeling well rested. That was odd. Normally she would get up several times in the middle of the night to write down some idea or the solution to something that her dreams had given her. Her brain was just too busy to ever really shut down.

Hermione attempted to bury her face in the pillow and chase after the fleeting vestiges of her sweet dreamless sleep, but found that the pillow was not the cushy cushion of her four poster bed in the Gryffindor Tower.

"Ah, you're awake." The voice Hermione heard was clinical, but kindly. It was the same kind of voice that her parents took on when they were about to tell a child they were going to get a tooth pulled.

Hermione rolled over and found herself in what was obviously the hospital ward. What made her think that? Well, the rows of neat uninhabited beds, the fact everything was bleached white, and the fact that the witch standing over her was dressed in a nurse's uniform had something to do with it.

"Hello." Hermione said groggily, her mind still not fully awake. "I don't believe we've met."

The woman chuckled. "If I had my way none of you students would need to know I existed, much less my name. As it is, you may call me Madam Pomphrey."

Pomphrey handed Hermione a cup of water that she gratefully drank down. It felt like she hadn't drunk anything in days…

It was that thought that kick started Hermione's brain again. "How did I get here?" Hermione questioned intently, struggling to sit up. Madam Pomphrey waved her wand and Hermione found an extra pillow to lean against, which she gratefully did.

"You were gravely injured on Halloween night." Pomphrey said bluntly. "You were brought here by Professors McGonagall and Snape, along with Mr. Potter, you was there when you were injured."

Multiple questions ran through Hermione's head. Why had Harry Potter been there? What exactly had happened to her? But most importantly…

"I haven't missed any school, have I?" She asked anxiously. Pomphrey seemed unable to process her words for several seconds, and then burst out laughing. Hermione waited with growing impatience as the woman wiped a tear away from her eye.

"I haven't seen that sort of determination to attend lessons in all my years here, and that's saying something." Pomphrey chuckled. However, her amusement seemed to fade when she took in the utter distress on Hermione's face.

"Yes, my dear. It's now the 13th of November."

Hermione could have sworn her heart stopped beating for several seconds when she heard those words.

No, this couldn't be happening, she couldn't miss classes, her grades would _plummet_ and she would never catch up, and she'd _fail_ and they'd kick her out of Hogwarts and she would never be around people that were like her _again_ and-

"Hermione?"

The girl turned and saw a familiar dark haired boy entering the Hospital Wing with a shock on his face. His emerald eyes alternated between looking at her face and her legs, oddly enough. Then, suddenly the boy darted towards her and she found herself wrapped in an awkward hug.

She had missed two weeks of school. She had just come out of a coma. And now Harry Potter was giving her a hug.

Something in Hermione's brain short-circuited and the room began to shimmer and spin. Harry looked down at her in confusion and asked her something, but his voice was coming from down a long tunnel.

Hermione lasted a full five minutes out of her Draught of Living Death-induced coma before she passed out in a confused Harry Potter's arms.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Goborei grumbled in distaste as he sorted through the large piles of gold and silver before him. He had _not_ expected that this was how the king would go about conducting warfare.

It had already been weeks, and the curse breakers were already working on eliminating the magic deeply ingrained in every goblin that resided in Gringotts. Of course, the goblin curse breakers were thrilled, even if most of their subjects died (many of whom they knew) if it meant freeing themselves.

The human curse breakers were a different matter. They were split into two camps: the ones who would do anything for profit, rather like goblins themselves, had willingly went along with the plan if it meant they were going to get paid. This was a significant portion of the human curse breakers that were willing to work with them, around 63%.

Then, there were the annoyingly moral ones. Humans had a tendency to start caring for anything that they spent enough time around, and somehow quite a few human curse breakers grew faintly fond of goblins, enough so that they were uncomfortable with experimenting on goblins. These needed to be…persuaded.

So each one was told a different tale. It was a curse from an old vault, and won't you please help? An angry wizard had hexed this poor goblins and he'll die if you don't help, won't you assist him?

None of them were told the truth. They didn't know they were giving the goblins the ability to finally _rebel_ against those damn arrogant wizards and put them in their place.

Unfortunately, Goborei didn't get to be a part of that. Though decades ago he had been a curse-breaker, his had developed his talents in a different way, seeking to identify curses before they activated. So much easier. But this meant the king needed his help with something different.

Namely, confiscating vaults. Due to some sort of stupid wizarding politics, if a vault held a dark object, then the goblins could claim the contents for themselves. Apparently this was meant to force wizards to withdraw their magical items so that the Ministry could then raid their house and arrest them without really having to deal with Gringotts, which was purposefully difficult.

But wizards were arrogant to the point of being stupid, or perhaps the other way around, and very few of them actually withdrew anything other than gold as normal, trusting that the goblins wouldn't be able to tell if something was enchanted or not.

Fools.

Did they really think goblins had no magic of their own? Yes, it was not as refined as a wizard's wand would allow them to possess, nor could it reach the raw power of someone like the Earthshaper or the Lightbringer, but magic was a part of them.

And Goborei happened to be very good at it.

He closed his eyes as he took in a deep breath. In his mind's eye he saw a hunk of molten ore, the first weapon that he had forged. The hammer fell, and Goborei was the hammer, the metal and the fire.

"Trace: On." Goborei's magic spread into the object he was examining, probing its depths and telling him everything there was to know about the ugly goblet he had found in the Lestrange's vault. The readings that came back were revolting, even to him.

Goborei broke off the Structural Analysis to vomit. He wiped off his mouth and resolved to have a lower rank come clean up the mess. Yet despite his disgust, he couldn't help the monstrous grin that split his face as he took Helga Hufflepuff's Goblet and brushed the surface delicately.

"Hello, Tom." He whispered to the cup.

For a moment, nothing seemed to happen. Then the light seemed to catch the glistening surface of the metal and Goborei saw a single blood red eye reflected back at him.

Goborei set the goblet away from him as he could feel the Horcrux's magic try to take hold of him, convince him to drink of its depths, which would surely not end well for him.

He could destroy it. There were weapons powerful enough to do so; he had several in his cave. But the man known as Lightbringer had had several dealings with them in the past, and it was clear the man was not just a mad sorcerer, he was a scholar and a researcher as well.

Who would he be to let that knowledge go to waste?

A deep laugh started in Goborei's chest, and within a few seconds his vicious cackling filled the cavern. It went on for quite a while, and under the relentless cackling even the metal of Hufflepuff's cup seemed to shiver.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 **Chapter 7! Achievement unlocked!**

 **To my fantastic reviewers:**

 **Daughter of Trickery- The Death Note canon still won't kick in for a while, though I am throwing around some ideas for what to do when I get there.**

 **Fireblaze-kun64- That really makes my day to hear you say that, thanks!**

 **So yeah, the goblins now know that they have one of Tom's Horcruxes. And please don't get worked up about Goborei's use of Structural Analysis, it's not really a crossover. Well, it is, but not a Fate/Stay Night crossover.**

 **And always remember to review! It gives me so much motivation.**


End file.
